


No One Understands the Chemistry We Have

by PleaseDontGetMeRescued



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/M, Panic Attacks, Sexual Content, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2183637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PleaseDontGetMeRescued/pseuds/PleaseDontGetMeRescued
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Veronica! Come on.”  His voice is perfect and smooth and just as she remembers it.  The banging on the door is getting louder and louder. She can hear the doorknob to the apartment twisting and suddenly J.D.’s voice sounds a lot more frantic.  “Now, Veronica! We have to go now!”  </p>
<p>+</p>
<p>Four years after leaving Sherwood, Ohio and starting a new life with her fiancé, Veronica is about to graduate from Harvard.  She’s in a stable, normal relationship and seemingly doing well for herself.  But, when new details are uncovered surrounding the deaths of three of her former classmates, Veronica is suddenly not only a suspect, but the only suspect.  Now, she on the run from her past, with her past.  She'd never thought her life would come to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're planning your future, Veronica Sawyer.  You'll go to some college and marry a lawyer.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never finished a multi-chapter fic so I'm really excited about this one since it's already done! I actually cried when I finished. Also, the title is apparently from a 5 Seconds of Summer song that I've never heard but Riley (My Beta, whom I love) said it worked for this story so I went with it. She's the best. 
> 
> I really hope this doesn't suck. Riley says it's good and I (usually) trust her. So, enjoy.

**  
**

 

Five years ago Veronica thought she was a good person. 

Five years ago she was a dorky senior nobody with exactly one friend. 

Five years ago she wasn’t an accessory to a triple homicide.

 

Honestly, she thinks about that a lot.  But then again, it’s hard not to when the three people you helped murder randomly pop up out of nowhere to comment on your life.  

 

And, seriously, she knows that it’s just her guilty conscience fucking with her, reminding her that yes, she _killed three people_.  But waking up to Heather Chandler standing next to her bed and screaming about corn nuts and embarrassingly small engagement rings isn’t exactly how Veronica wants to spend the rest of her life.  

 

Admittedly, she should have thought about that before killing someone like Heather Chandler.  

 

“I mean, seriously, Veronica.  I knew you didn’t have high standards but I’ve seen grains of sand bigger than that thing.”  Veronica groans and shoves her head deeper under her pillow.  

 

It had been a shockingly peaceful, Dead-kid-free few weeks for her.  In hindsight, she should’ve known at least one of them would be popping up soon.  She was just glad that Colin had left for work already.  

 

“Remember how in high school I took your scrawny ass and turned you into a somebody?  Well, I’m telling you, that girl could aim a little higher - even if that somebody is you…”  Veronica groaned again and flopped over onto her back.  She stared at the ceiling, barely listening to Heather rip apart her life choices and fiancé.  

 

Colin had proposed a week ago and Veronica had yet to tell anyone - not her parents, not Martha.  She didn’t want to think about why that was.  

 

Five years ago Veronica dreamed about her wedding day.  Now that it was actually in the foreseeable future, it didn't seem as perfect.  

Five years ago she was dating someone the _complete opposite_ of Colin (Dark, mysterious, passionate.  Homicidal.).  She didn't want to think about that either.  

 

After Kurt, Ram, Heather - and J.D. - died, Westerburg High did a complete one-eighty.  With the exception of a few (Heather Duke), the school somehow became a more tolerant place, meaning kids could go at least a day without get shoved into a locker or thrown in a dumpster.  

 

Still, when her letter came from Harvard, Veronica was only too happy to get the hell out of there.  Saying she didn’t exactly put her best foot forward in Sherwood, Ohio would be quite the understatement.  

 

She mostly just wanted a clean slate, to leave all of the painful and bad memories behind - like watching your boyfriend lose his mind and get obliterated by a self-made bomb.  

 

Despite the significantly calmer atmosphere of Westerburg, senior year was still a struggle.  On top of _being a senior_ , Veronica more than struggled with the guilt of three murders, death of J.D., and nastiness towards her only real friend that led to her attempted suicide.  Admittedly, though, the toughest part was having someone who so completely understood her, someone who knew exactly how she felt and recognized all of her flaws and still loved her to _death_ \- and then having that someone ripped away.  Having him right there one minute and then having him literally blown out of her life forever the next.  Some days it was nearly impossible to get out of bed.  The weight of it all sat on her chest like an anchor, paralyzing her with dread.  

 

Over the past few years she’d been become increasingly more jumpy, always on the lookout for the next insane boyfriend or manipulative bitch, always afraid that someone, anyone would find out what she had done, planned and helped to do.  Somehow, if she kept all of her secrets buried inside, maybe she could just make them all disappear.  

 

The depression and guilt was killer but her clean slate came only a few weeks into college in the form of Colin Pentz.  Her was pretty much nothing she wanted and everything she needed (re: nothing like J.D.).  Colin was calm and reliable.  Innocent down to the bone.  With his bright blond hair and light blue eyes he was all sunshine to J.D.’s shadows.  A year older than her and a pre-law major, Colin looked to uphold the law, not shatter it. He was quiet and polite and never broke the rules.  He was the type of guy one would take home to their parents.  He was security.

 

And Veronica _did_ feel safe with him.  He always locked the doors and windows at night.  He had a good job working in the law department of the police station, and was in his first year of law school.  He had a future.  He never pushed her into something she seeming even slightly against.  He never argued with her. It was just too easy to be with him.  He was almost too perfect.  For the first few weeks she was riding a ghost-free high.  She was so caught up with how simple and easy and bright everything was when she was with Colin she didn’t see or hear from any of her victims for weeks.  She relished in it.  And when they did show up with raised eyebrows and judgmental smirks at her change of type, Veronica clung to him even harder, praying that his overwhelming _goodness_ would somehow banish away all of her sins.  

 

And here she was, four years later: tired, engaged, and tormented by her dead best friend/worst enemy/murder-ee.  

 

Finally giving up any hope of going back to sleep before her morning lecture, Veronica rolls out of bed and into the tiny kitchen she shares with Colin.  He’d left her a coffee as usual - black with three sugars, exactly how she would like it, if she drank coffee - now cold but still a sweet and thoughtful gesture nonetheless.  She pours the coffee down the drain and rinsed the mug, putting water on to boil for tea instead as Heather trails behind her gabbing about God-knows what.  

 

She’s just pouring the boiling water over her tea bag when she gets a prickle of awareness at the back of her neck and tunes back in to Heather’s chatter. “-and you know, despite even me thinking you could do better, if you hadn’t have betrayed my trust, sided with Martha Dumptruck, and murdered me I totally would have helped you plan this wedding.  Fuck knows you’ll need all the help you can get.  No sense of style without me, I’ll tell you.  Oh, and you’re being watched.”  

 

There’s a crash out on the fire escape and Veronica panics.  Her mug shatters against the linoleum tiles as she spins to face the sound.  The curtains are billowing in the wind but there is no one on the fire escape.  Tiptoeing over the broken ceramic, she peers out the window up and down, spotting no one.  

 

“Hmm, maybe not,” Heather chirps from over her shoulder.  “You really _are_ losing it.”

 

“I’m losing it?  You’re the one who said there was someone there!”

 

“Veronica, honey.  I’m a figment of your fucking imagination.”

 

Veronica sighs and collapses into the couch, rubbing her temples.  Somehow she always forgets that part.  She sits sprawled out on the too-soft couch cushions for far too long,the all-too-familiar weight sitting on her chest like a fucking elephant.  Eventually she gets up to clean the broken mug and wipe up the mess before heading to the bathroom for a shower.  Out of the corner of her eye she thinks she sees movement on the fire escape again for a moment.  But, when she looks again, there’s nothing there.  

 

She strips and jumps under the hot water before her mind can play anymore fucking tricks on her.  Heather’s right, she thinks. 

 

She really is losing it.  

 


	2. Shine, shine, shine a light on your deepest fear.

 

 

Veronica’s in the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water when Colin comes through the front door carrying Chinese.  He places the food on the counter, kisses her cheek, and asks her how her day was, like he does every day.  

 

“Fine,” she answers.  “Nothing exciting.”  She smiles up at him and accepts his kiss.  The warm familiarity of it all is a small comfort.  Nice.  Domestic.  Normal.  She’s learned to revel in it while she can.  “How was your day?”

 

“Very surprising.  You’ll never guess what case Daniels was assigned to look into.”  Colin had been working with Detective John Daniels for two years now, as an intern at the police station.  He paired up with the detective and looked at old cold cases from a lawyer’s point of view.  He’d seen everything from petty theft to threatened terrorist activity, all years old and dusty off the shelves.  “It’s a couple of cases from your old high school.”  Veronica freezes, hand halfway to her glass of water, eyes wide.  “Three suicides in a matter of a few weeks.  Do you remember that from your senior year?”  She’s frozen.  “Veronica?”

 

The glass of water tips and soils across the counter as she flails.   _Oh god, oh god, oh god.  Fuck, dammit._  She scurries to sop up the water and Colin jumps to help her.   _This is not fucking happening._

 

She throws the dripping paper towels in the trash and turns away, scrubbing her hands down her face.  She spots Heather sitting with her legs crossed on the counter top.  Behind her, Kurt and Ram lean against the wall.  Heather smirks at her like the demon witch she is.  “Well, that’s awkward.”

 

“Veronica?”  She snaps her gaze away from Heather’s and meets Colin’s.  “Hey, are you okay?”  He rests his hands gently on her forearms, the picture of concern.  Veronica’s heart cries a little bit at how sweet he is.  

 

“Oh, um yeah.  Yeah I knew them.  Especially Heather,” she finishes lamely.  

 

Behind her, Kurt scoffs.  “‘Especially Heather’ she says.  I don’t know Veronica _aaa_ , I’d say we got pretty close. Wouldn’t you, Ram?”  

 

“Yeah, Kurt.  Very close,” Ram says right next to her ear.  Veronica avoids flinching.  She wants to roll her eyes and tell them to shut up.    _We didn’t get anywhere near close, assholes._  But, she knows she’d just look like a crazy person.  She’s gotten pretty good at ignoring the urge to respond to them over the last four years, thank God. 

 

“How well did you know them?” Colin asks, refilling her water glass and handing it to her.  

 

“Just, you know, from around.  We went to school together pretty much all our lives.  So, I knew them, I guess.”  

 

“Do remember anything specific about when they died?”  Instantly flashes of Drano and red scrunchies and croquet mallets and “ich luge” bullets and cemeteries and fake suicide notes flashes through her brain.  A beautiful, smart, dysfunctional boy standing next to her the entire time.  

 

“Yeah, I- I mean no. They were just suicides.  I mean I remember them happening but there’s isn’t really much to say, I guess.”  

 

“Okay,” Colin says with a quirked eyebrow.  He smiles nonetheless.  “Come on,” he says, grabbing the Chinese.  “The food is getting cold.”  

 

The pair sits down at the table and dig into their food, Veronica far less enthusiastically.  She’s a little too focused on the dead kids conversing across the room from her.  “That’s interesting, guys,” Kurt says.  “She doesn’t really remember anything from when we died.  They were just suicides.”  

 

“Yeah, that is interesting,” chimes in Ram.  “That’s not exactly how I remember it.  I remember her and her psychotic boyfriend pulling the trigger on us.”  Veronica flinches at the words but covers it before Colin can notice by reaching for more food.  She frantically shoves more food into her mouth and smiles at him.  He laughs, smiles, back and hands her a napkin.  

 

“Oh, will you two shut up?  You’re giving me a headache.”  Heather’s sneer immediately shuts down their crude chatter.  Veronica has never been more grateful to the bitch.

 

+

 

Three weeks later Veronica is starting to get extremely stressed out.  She is a month from graduating and exams are coming up.  She still hasn’t told her mother that she’s engaged, and it’s been a month.  And, to top it all off, Colin keeps bringing up the case that they’re _still_ working on.  Veronica doesn’t remember the last time they worked on a case for so long but this one is killing her.  

 

He keeps bringing it up too.  Almost every day Colin will come home, kiss her on the cheek, and tell her the latest details.   And every time she’s gets awkward  - starts babbling, spills shit, trips over her own feet, or goes deathly quiet.  She can tell that Colin is getting suspicious of her behavior.  She only hopes that he thinks it’s the undeniably sad nature of the topic and not because he assumes she’s guilty of triple homicide.  

 

Things comes to a boil one Thursday night when Colin comes home from work early, just before Veronica is about to leave for her evening class.  She’s packing up her bag when he comes through the door looking grim.  “Hey,” she says immediately, noticing his expression.  “What’s up?”  She abandons her bag and goes to wrap her arms around his neck.  Seeing him as anything other than smiling is always weird for her.  

 

“Nothing.  It’s just the case.”  Veronica instantly stiffens and backs away back towards her bag.  She doesn’t want to be late for class.  Meanwhile, Colin goes off on a tangent about the case, how an anonymous someone sent them boxes of evidence to sort through.  They’re not sure if it’s even real evidence but they have to look through it thoroughly just in case.  How a lot of the evidence points to the deaths not being suicides, but murder.  

 

Veronica slams her book down on the table and closes her eyes.  Colin jumps at the noise, clearly surprised at the interruption from his rant.  He looks at her then.  Really looks.  His eyebrows are scrunched together and he looks pissed.   _Shit_.  “Jesus, Veronica.  What is your problem?”

 

“I don’t have a problem.  I’m gonna be late for class.”  He intercepts her a the door before she can make her escape though.  

 

“No, wait.  Why do you always get so weird when I talk about this?  You _knew_ these kids.  Don’t you want to know what happened to them?”

 

“I know what happened.  They died.”  The dead trio appears over Colin’s shoulder and Veronica meets Heather’s eye.  The alpha bitch crosses her arms and raises an amused, perfectly sculpted brow.  “That’s the end of it.  I’ve got to go.”  

 

She storms out with a lot on her mind and missing half of her books for class.  And, well, if she spends lecture dreading going home instead of taking notes, no one has to know.  She just hopes the shit she missed won’t be on the exam.

 

Fuck, she just hopes she’s sane enough to even _take_ the exam.

 

+

 

Ninety minutes later the sun is down and the class is over.  She feels drowsy and perplexed.  She can hear the loud music coming from one of the houses down the street where kids with far fewer problems than her are spending their Thursday night getting wasted and having fun.  She can barely think straight.   _What the fuck am I gonna do?_  She has no idea.  It’s times like these when she’s completely and utterly lost, helpless, alone, and worried that she misses J.D. the most.  He always knew what she needed.  Admittedly, though, that had led to the deaths of three (four) people and the near deaths of countless others.  She didn’t want to think about that part.  

 

Veronica is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she’s not even aware of the path she’s taking back to her apartment.  There is four things she knows though.  One:  She’s afraid to go home.  Colin will surely want to talk about their argument and she’s just not sure she has that in her.  Two: If that new evidence is real and it even remotely points to her, she’ll end up in prison or worse.  Three:  She misses J.D. desperately and could really, _really_ use a hug right now.  And four: she is completely and utterly _fucked_.  

 

She’s so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn’t even hear the footsteps behind her until it’s too late.  There’s an arm around her throat and a hand up her shirt.  The asshole smell like booze and sweat, and Veronica gags on it.  

 

She struggles to break free but panic is overtaking her mind.  She tries to aim an elbow for her attacker’s stomach, like she knows to do but she can’t think straight.  Her movements are sloppy and her breathing is frantic.  The man is leaning too heavily against her and she can’t hold up his weight.  Her knees give out beneath her and they both go tumbling down onto the concrete.  Her tamales hits the ground with a smack.  He is holding her arms to her body so she can’t break the fall and suddenly her head is alight with a blistering pain.  She more senses than feels the trickle of blood down her hairline.  She is disoriented all over again.  The man’s hands are on her skin and in her hair and she can’t think to move.  Can’t think at all.  

 

She hears a shout from around the corner and then more footsteps pounding on the ground.  The man’s weight is almost instantly gone from on top of her.  She rolls over onto her back and recognizes brown hair and strong muscles fighting off the man that attacked her.  Everything, every swing her savior takes is familiar but she can’t place it.  Her head is a mess of fog and pain.  

 

Her savior shoves the drunk to the ground and turns to her.  “Veronica,” he says, pushing her hair away from her face and holding her cheek.  He takes her hand and helps her up onto shaky legs.  She looks harder at his face, squinting.  She knows him.  She _knows_ him.  But her eyes can’t focus on anything and all she can make out is how _brown, brown, brown_ his eyes are.  

 

The recognition is right there at the front of her brain.  She’s almost got it when he’s ripped away fro her once again.  She gasps and reaches for him, hesitant to let him go for even a second.  But, the drunk is pulling on his shirt and swinging at him like a madman again.  From what she can tell, he gets in one good hit and her savior stumbles back.  He stops, resets himself, and then attacks again with greater vigor. 

 

“Veronica, go,” he growls in her direction, fists raised.  He shoots her a glance over his shoulder before focusing on his opponent once more.  She knows he’s saying something to her, talking to her, but nothing makes sense.  “Veronica,” he grunts, lashing out once more.  “Leave!”  That, for some reason, registers.  “Run!”

 

She does.  


	3. I can set you free.

 

 

By the time Veronica gets home it is completely dark outside.  Her head and heart are pounding.  The pain in her temple sharp and the tears are dried on her cheeks.  She stumbles up there stairs the her fourth floor apartment and leans her head against the door, trying to breathe.  

 

She knows she looks like shit.  Her hair is everywhere and her clothing disheveled.  Finally trying to regain her breath, she straightens her self as best she can.  She doesn’t want Colin to worry.   _He always worries._

 

“And maybe he should,” says Heather behind her.  “You’ve got dirt on your back.”  Veronica is too disoriented to feel annoyed at her mocking smirk.  Patting herself down once more, she finally goes in.  

 

Colin is sitting on the couch facing the front door.  He is surrounded by stacks of papers.  He looks less than pleased to see her.  

 

“Where the hell have you been?”  It doesn’t sound worried or relieved.  Instead it is a growl, deep and cold and so out of character that Veronica can tell he is mad at her, even in her unhinged state.  He is never mad at her. Why is he mad at her?

 

“I-“ she starts but he cuts her off just as quick.

 

“Actually, you know what, I don’t care where you’ve been or why you’re late.  What I really want to know is why you didn’t tell me.”  His glare is so piercing she feels her heart stop momentarily.  It is terrifying. (And that’s coming from someone who had been threatened by Heather Chandler multiple times.)

 

“Tell you what?”  Her voice sounds strange even to her own ears.  She can tell her words are slightly slurred.

 

“About what you did.”  She blinks at him, staring blankly, confused.  He sighs and launches from his seat, grabbing something from one of the many stacks around him and holds it up next to his head.  “Look familiar?”  

 

Her heart stops.

 

When it starts up again the painfully blaring pulse in her temple triples in strength.  

 

“Holy shit.”  Veronica couldn’t agree with Heather more.  

 

Colin’s holding her diary.  The one from senior year that she wrote in every day.  The one that talks about how she worked her way in with the Heathers, about J.D., about killing three people, making them look like suicides, faking her own death, the bomb and J.D. dying.  Everything is in the diary.  Her entire life is in that diary. 

 

She knows that diary.  That diary with it’s black cover and ink-stained pages.  The one with an old polaroid picture of her and J.D. taped on the inside cover.  The one that is going to get her locked up in prison because _ohmygod, he knows._  She _knows_ that diary.  And now Colin knows it too.  

 

She knows she needs to say something, instead of just gaping at him dumbly.  She knows she should defend herself, say it wasn’t her fault.  But it was her fault. She knew what she was doing all those years ago.  She could have turned herself in.  She could’ve confessed five years ago.  She could confess now.  Still, all she is able to manage is, “How did you get that?”

 

“Jesus, Veronica.”  He looks away, as if he can’t bare to even see her right then.  “Why does it fucking matter how I got it?  The fact is that I have it now.  And I know what you did.  And soon so will Daniels and the chief.  Jesus, what did you get yourself into?”

 

She can only stare at him, speechless.  Her head is swimming and she feels nauseous.  Her head hurts and her vision is blurry and suddenly she is so, _so_ tired.  All she wants to do is lie down.  

 

She silently makes her way past him.  Her legs feel like jello.  

 

“Where are you going?”  He follows her, grabbing at her arm, somehow still with a gentle touch, even through it all.  She shakes him off though, and sinks down onto the edge of the bed.  “Well, don’t you have anything to say?”  He sounds desperate, demanding.  Like he’s searching for answers he knows he won’t find.  

 

“Like what?”

 

“Gee, I don’t know Veronica.  Maybe something like, ‘No, Colin you’ve got it all wrong’, or ‘this is all just a misunderstanding’, or how about just fucking ‘I didn’t do it’!  Can you at least just tell me that?”

 

She says nothing.  Just stares blankly past him.  She can’t even think anymore.  She wonders whether that’s from the blow to her head or the fact that her fiancé just found out she’s a murderer.  

 

After what seems like minutes of Colin just staring at her in shocked disbelief he finally moves.  “Great.  That’s just fucking great.”  His face is calm but his actions are anything but.  Veronica barely flinches when a lamp goes flying across the room and shatters against the wall.  

 

He gathers up all of the files into a box and drops her diary on top.  He doesn’t look at her as he opens the door to leave.  “They’re going to have a lot of questions for you,” he finally says, his back to her.  “Don’t go anywhere, don’t leave town, and _don’t_ call me.”  

 

As the door slams closed with a vicious bang, Veronica’s eyes droop in exhaustion and misgiving.  She slumps down into the bed and her eyes finally flutter closed.  She doesn’t know how Colin got her diary.  She doesn’t know what’s going to happen to her.  And she doesn’t know what she’s going to do.  

 

What she does know is that her head really fucking hurts.

 

She’s asleep within minutes.  

 

+

 

When she wakes up everything is about twice as clear and 100% more painful.  She can feel the blood crusted to her forehead from the gash.  Her shoes are still on.  There is broken glass across the room.  Colin is not there.  

 

Her entire body is sore and her skull feels like it’s made of lead.  Thankfully, there is no sign of Heather, Kurt, or Ram.  It’s blissfully silent.  She lies staring at the ceiling for a few long minutes before dragging herself into the shower.  

 

Surrounded by steam and the white noise of water hitting tile everything becomes abundantly clear.  Colin knows what she did.  What she helped J.D. to do.  What they did together.  And now the police know too.  There is no more ignoring it.  She must finally admit what she’s been denying to herself for five years.  

 

She’s a murderer.  

 

The thought sends her reeling.  She stumbles back against the cold shower tiles. _I’m a murderer_.  Even though she didn’t put the drano into Heather’s prairie oyster, she still handed it to her.  Still watched her die and didn’t call for help.  Still faked her suicide note.  And like she wrote in her diary, she didn’t feel nearly as bad about it as she should have.  

 

And then with Kurt and Ram.  Sure, she didn’t pull the trigger.  Well, she did.  She just missed.  And J.D. had much better aim than her.  And, even though she’d missed them, she was still perfectly alright with faking their suicides too, making them out to be total laughing stock, ruining their reputations.  She was no better than them.  No, she was worse.  She killed people.  And sure, lied and told her they were non-lethal bullets.  But ich luge?  Really?  She was a 4.0 student.  She got into Harvard, Duke, _and_ Brown.  Her IQ was through the roof.  She wasn’t an idiot.  She _chose_ to believe his bullshit and deal with the consequences later.  

 

Well, later had come.  And now she had to deal with the fact that she had been caught.  They basically had a confession.  She had written everything in that diary.  From her less than enthusiastic guilt over poisoning Heather to how it had felt to squeeze the trigger on Kurt.  There was no escaping it.   _I’m a murderer._  

 

Suddenly the weight of five years of repressed guilt was bearing down on her.  It wrapped around her lungs and squeezed until she couldn’t breathe.  Her knees gave out and she ended up in a huddle under the now lukewarm spray of the shower.  

 

She can feel her heart beating in her chest, can hear the pulse of it inside her brain like a hammer hitting an anvil.  She can feel the terror clawing it’s way up her throat, trying to escape but finding no path, can hear the sobs coming from her body but feels weirdly detached from it all.  Like the cloudiness in her head is setting her aside from her body, yet she’s horribly restrained inside of it as well.  She’s folded up in a ball, her too-long legs cramping underneath her, her hair clinging to her face and neck.  When she tries to pry the wet strands off her skin she feels nothing.  Her fingers are numb and her skin is covered in goosebumps.  

 

Worst of all though is her chest.  The pain is unbearable.  Like dozens of wild animals are trying to claw their way out from between her ribs.  Like a handful of fully grown men are sitting on top of her lungs.  Like someone is taking her entire chest cavity and squeezing it between a huge metal clamp.  She can’t breathe, she can’t see, she can’t think.  She is lost.

 

_What have I done?_

 

She doesn’t know how long she sits there.  It could be seconds it could be hours.  But the loud banging from her apartment door is enough to make the pain and panic double.   _What is going on?_  The banging gets louder and louder and then there is shouting louder and _louder_.  Banging and shouting and her heart inside her head and she can’t escape it, can’t escape it, _can’t escape._  

 

Then flashes from the night before come back to her all at once.  Suddenly she can make out what the voices are saying, what they are shouting.  And ‘Police, open up!’ sounds a lot like _They’re going to have a lot of questions for you._  And all she gets from ‘Veronica Sawyer, open the door’ is _don’t go anywhere.  Don’t leave town._

 

_Don’t call me._

 

_Don’t call me._

 

_Don’t call me._

 

“Veronica!”  

 

Her eyes snap to focus when the shower curtain is pulled back and he’s standing there looking alive and well and as beautiful and mysterious as the day she met him.

 

In the four years since they’ve died Veronica has seen Heather, Kurt, and Ram countless times to the point where it doesn’t even surprise her to see them anymore.  They are a part of her everyday life, commenting on her breakfast choices and study habits and relationship status.  In all of those years she has seen J.D.’s “ghost” or whatever a grand total of zero times.  She always wondered why that was.  Why didn’t he come to her like the others did?  She always thought they appeared because she felt guilt over their deaths.  So why didn’t she ever see him?  Out of all of them, she felt most guilty over him.  Maybe she could have saved him if she’d tried harder.  Maybe if she hadn’t of faked her own death she couldn’t talked him out of doing something crazy instead.  Maybe he would still be alive and they would still be together.  Maybe she would still get to see him some other way besides some fucked up hallucination from the past.  But she didn’t even see him as a ghost or a figment of her imagination.  And for four years she’d wondered why.  He loved her.  She knew that.  And she loved him.  

 

He was the love of her life.  He just also happened to be insane.  

 

So why wasn’t he there?  

 

But he was there now.  After four long years he was finally appearing to her.  It caused her heart to lurch in her chest.  

 

“Veronica! Come on.”  His voice is perfect and smooth and just as she remembers it.  The banging on the door is getting louder and louder.  J.D. swears and reaches over to shut off the water before grabbing at her arms.  

 

The second his skin touches hers she is jolted awake with a gasp.   _He’s here._  The others have never touched her, never felt her skin.  Not in four years.  That’s how she knew they weren’t real.  But she can feel him.  Feel the warmth of his touch and the fire in his eyes.   _Brown, brown, brown_ eyes that she knows so well.  They’re crystal clear and right in front of her.  

 

_He’s here._

 

“You’re here,” she say as he pulls her up from the floor of the shower.  She shivers as he pulls her dripping and naked as the day she was born, out of the bathroom by the hand, fingers laced through hers like they’re meant to be there.  “You’re really here.”

 

“Yes, Veronica, I’m right here,” he soothes as he wraps her naked, freezing frame up in a big flannel and pushes her wet hair from her face.  His fingers on her neck feel familiar and terrifying all at once.  

 

“It’s really you.”  She feels like crying now.  She _is_ crying.  “How?”

 

“It’s really me.  And I’ll explain everything later but right now we have to move.”  He turns her by the shoulders, hands never leaving her, and moves her towards the open window and onto the fire escape.  

 

“But-“ _Don’t go anywhere.  Don’t leave town._

 

She can hear the doorknob to the apartment twisting and suddenly J.D.’s voices sounds a lot more frantic.  “Now, Veronica! We have to go now!”  

 

_Don’t call me._  The reminder of Colin’s harsh, cold voice from the night before steels her nerve.  With renewed determination she runs down the fire escape as quickly as she can without slipping on her still-wet skin, J.D. hot on her heels.  

 

His motorbike is waiting at the bottom of the fire escape, looking as tempting as the night she first climbed through his window.  He hands her the only helmet and she shoves it on her head without a second though.  Climbing onto the bike behind him, she locks her limbs into place around him as they take off at break-neck speed down the streets of Cambridge.  

 

Her bare legs are freezing in the wind but he’s warm in front of her and she feels a sense of relief for the first time in four years.  

 

She doesn’t even bother looking back.  


	4. Let them drive us underground.  I don’t care how far.

 

Veronica can’t take her eyes off of him.  With every blink she thinks that he’ll disappear.  

 

She’s not sure if she wants that or not.  

 

His eyes glow amber in the early afternoon sunlight shining through the window. His clothes are disheveled and he’s got a fat lip that she eyes curiously.  His dark hair is ridiculously windblown from the hours long ride here.  To the middle of nowhere.  She’s not even sure where they are.  Some little diner that has definitely (hopefully) seen better days.  

 

When the waitress comes up the them she still can’t look away.  Can’t bring herself to do it.  She can hear the waitress chewing gum loudly, can feel her skeptical eyes on them, glancing over their disheveled appearances, the borrowed, too-big sweatpants he’d handed to her in the parking lot.  “Coffee?” she asks.

 

J.D. doesn’t look away from her either.  He hasn’t since they climbed off his bike ten minutes ago.  It’s both unnerving and strangely comforting.  She feels like a ghost is looking into her soul.  She’d give anything to break the contact, but can’t bring herself to do it.  

 

“Tea, please.  Two.”  Veronica isn’t surprised he remembers she doesn’t drink coffee.  

 

As the waitress shuffles away Veronica can feel herself shudder.  His gaze is so intense, just as it always had been.  He smiles at her gently and her heart shatters into a billion tiny pieces.  “Hi.”

 

Charming as ever.

 

Her breath leaves her all at once.  “What the fuck is happening.”  It’s a statement whispered to herself, not a question.  But he takes it as one anyway.  

 

“I know you’re confused and afraid but if you just talk to me I’ll answer all of you’re questions.  I can explain everything.”

 

She stares at him for a long moment before she can muster up the balls to ask the question she’s not sure she wants the answer to.  “How are you alive?”

 

He huffs and smiles at her endearingly.  “Everything but that.”  Her eyebrows draw together as  red hot annoyance boils through her veins.  She’s out of her seat and headed for the door before he can say anything else.  But, he grabs her wrist and holds it tight.  The too-familiar sparks of heat crackle between their skin.  She hates herself for wanting it.  “No, wait.  I’m sorry,” he pleads desperately.  “Please don’t go.”  Veronica stares down at him hesitantly.  His eyes are wide and frightened - like he’s afraid she’ll disappear.  

 

She’s familiar with that particular sensation.

 

“Veronica, please.  Please stay.”  His voice saying her name feels like a blanket wrapped around her shoulders when she’s sad - something she never knew she’d wanted until she had it.  “I really don’t know the answer to that one but if you sit down I can try to explain it as best as I can.”  

 

His fingers smoothing over the pulse in her wrist finally seals the deal.  She sits back down across from him resolutely.  He doesn’t let go of her.  

 

“How can you not know that?”

 

He sighs.  “It’s confusing and murky and I honestly don’t remember much of what happened after I woke up.  I still don’t know exactly what happened.  All I know is that when I took that bomb away from you I was fully prepared to die.  So, when I woke up miles and days away I was kind of disappointed.”  Veronica feels her chest lurch.  “I thought that maybe by dying, helping to get the bomb away from everyone - away from you - maybe I could be forgiven.  Absolved of my sins.”  He’s not meeting her eye.  She’s not sure if she’s happy about that or not.  “I know now, obviously that that was all bullshit.  There’s nothing I can do that will change what I did to all of those people - what I did to you.  But still, maybe I would’ve rather died than dealt9 with the fallout of all of my mistakes and having you hate me.”  

 

“Hey,” she says and he looks up.  His face is hard as stone.  “I never hated you.”  He looks relieved to hear it and Veronica can’t help the soft smile she lets slip onto her face.  They hold each other’s gaze until the waitress comes back with their teas, breaking them apart.  

 

She goes to work stirring lemon and honey into hers before letting it cool.  He drinks his plain and scalding hot right away.  For some reason that doesn’t surprise her, yet makes her smile.  

 

“So you really don’t know how you survived?  It seems impossible that you could’ve.  You  should’ve seen it, there was rubble everywhere.  A complete disaster area.”  She watches her spoon make little waves in her tea.

 

“All I know is that when I came to I had been completely patched up and was healing. And whoever it was that saved me was nowhere to be found.”

 

“So what did you do?”  

 

“Got on a bus and headed back to Sherwood.  Turns out I was three towns over it was a week later.  I knew that everybody thought I was dead and it was risky to come back incase someone saw me, but I had come and check on you.  Make sure were alright and that you hadn’t gotten caught up in the blast.  I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d been hurt.  Especially from something that was my fault.  Imagine my relief when I saw you sitting at that lunch table with Martha and McNamara, alive and well, wearing that red scrunchie in your hair.”  

 

She smiles, remembering those days fondly, despite the guilt and dread she faced every day from him being gone.  

 

“So what did you do?”  

 

“I left.  I knew you were far better off without me in your life.  And now that I knew you were okay, I could leave you alone to live your life in peace.”  For some reason his words make her chest ache.  

 

“So where did you go?  What did you do?”  

 

He shrugs.  “I was kind of everywhere.  Travelled a lot and did odd jobs, trying to make enough money to settle down somewhere quiet where I couldn’t hurt anyone.   Saw a shrink every once in a while to try and talk out my problems.  It helped for a while.”  

 

“So you’re alright now?”  The thought of him being anything but makes her stiffen.  It’s just like he said about her, now that she knows he’s alive she just wants him to be happy and healthy.  

 

“I’m okay.  It was tough for a while, you know?  I didn’t know what to do with myself.”  

 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re okay.”  She smiles at him and he smirks back.

 

“Aww, was the great and powerful Veronica Sawyer worried about me?  Miss me?”  

 

She wrinkles her nose and gently kicks his shin under the table.  “Shut up,” she teased with a smirk, taking a sip of her tea to calm her nerves.   Why did she have the nerves?  It was only J.D. - J.D. her risen from the dead psychotic murderer ex-boyfriend.  

 

Still, even though she knew all of those things to be true, they didn’t seem right in her head.  Didn’t quite fit the mold of the J.D. that she knows.

 

“So, that’s it?  You just left and now you’ve just _‘been around’_?”

 

“Don’t sound so hurt.  I obviously came by to check on you every once in a while to make sure you were still okay.  I’d pop in about once a month and peep in.”

 

“You’ve been stalking me?” she asks with a quirked eyebrow, probably not nearly as bothered by it as she should be.  “Looking through my windows?”

 

“I prefer the term ‘obsessively protectively shadowing’.  And that’s rich coming from you, Miss Climbs-Through-Windows-And-Jumps-The-New-Kid’s-Bones-At-Two-AM.” 

 

Veronica blushes deep and groans, burying her face in her arms, remembering how their relationship _actually_ started.  “Shut up.”  They both laugh at her embarrassment, and Veronica pushes her hair away from her face, leaning back into the booth seat.  For some reason, despite the circumstances, she’s suddenly all smiles. 

 

“All joking aside, though.  Yes, I have been keeping an eye on you.”  He sips from his tea thoughtfully.  “I have to make sure you’re safe.”  

 

Flashes from the night before pop into her brain all at once.  Of drunk men and brown eyes and _Veronica, go! Run!_  She glances down at his swollen lip again, remembering how her attacker had only gotten in one good punch.  “Was that you last night?  That saved me from that drunken asshole?”

 

His tongue flicks out momentarily to nurse the sore skin or his lip.  It’s distracting.  He takes another sip of his tea and looks away from her.  “Yeah, that was me.”  He won’t meet her eye.  “Listen, I’m sorry.  I know that it was really violent.  I’ve been trying to be better.  But, I just - I saw him hurting you and I snapped.  It’s like I just couldn’t stop hitting him and I - Jesus, I know you don’t like it when I get violent like that.”

 

“Hey,” she soothes, reaching for his wrist across the table.  “It’s okay.  He was trying to hurt me.  You were just protecting me.  He was drunk and stupid and who knows what could have happened if you hadn’t showed up.”  His mouth sets into an even firmer line and his eyes look pissed.  “Just as long as you didn’t kill him, I think we’ll be just fine.”  J.D. doesn’t say anything and still won’t meet her gaze.  Her throat suddenly feel like it’s closing up.  “You didn’t kill him…did you?”

 

“Jesus, of course not.”  He rips his hand from her grasp.  “I told you I’ve been trying to be better.”

 

She looks at him with a mixture of hope and hesitance.  “So you haven’t…since high school, I mean?”

 

“Haven’t what?”  He scoffs, looking at her with an expression that’s equal parts wounded and pissed.  “Killed anyone else?  That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it.”  

 

“Just answer it, please.”  She hates that she doubts him.  And she hates that she feels like she should.  

 

“No, Veronica.  I haven’t killed anyone since we took out Heather, Kurt, and Ram four years ago.  Happy?”  Blonde curls and a red scrunchie catch her attention over J.D.’s shoulder.  Heather is sitting in a booth on the other side of the restaurant, smirking at her devilishly.  Across from her Kurt and Ram are making a pyramid out the the creamers.  

 

“Ecstatic,” she replies dryly.  She glances away from the ghosts and meets his eyes once more.  “Do you regret it?  What we did to them?”  His eyes are hesitant and unforgiving, like he knows she won’t like what he’s about to say but it determined not to lie to her.  

 

“Honestly, no.”  She blinks at him slowly, disappointed and hurt.  “Just hear me out, though.  Do I wish I felt differently?  Do I wish I regretted it?  Fuck yes.  Every single day I wish I could feel bad for killing those three.  But I don’t and I can’t change the way I feel.  I told you I’ve been trying to be better and I am.  But I can’t bring myself to regret ending them.  Because they hurt you.  They made your life miserable and painful.  They hurt you.  And I will destroy anything and anyone that tries to hurt you, Veronica.”  

 

“You hurt me.”  She can feel hear heartbeat in her throat and the too-familiar sting of tears in her eyes.  “Remember, J.D.?  You hurt me.  When you lied to me, sucked me into your games, told my parents I was suicidal, pointed a gun at my head.”  Her voice is thick with emotion.  Saying all of this out loud is so much harder than she thought it would be.  “You hurt me so many times.”  

 

Her previously unshed tears trace their way down her cheeks.  She can see his own gathering in J.D.’s eyes too.  “I know,” he says, barely more than a whisper.  “I know I did.  And I hate myself every day for it.  Every fucking day.  But I can’t change the past, Veronica.  All I can do is plan for the future.  And that’s why I’ve been trying to change.  So that I can be better.  For you.”  His voice is so earnest and his expression so sincere.  Her whole being feels like mush because she can’t even comprehend what she’s feeling.  

 

She reaches for his hand again.  “I know.  And I’m proud of you for that.  I really am.”  She braces herself for what she has to do next.  She knows she’ll be hurting herself as much as she’s hurting him when she says it.  “But the things I did when I was with you, the person who I was.  I can’t accept that.  We did horrible, terrible things.  And it doesn’t matter how happy I am that you’re alive and safe, how I felt about you back then, or how much I loved you.  I won’t let myself be that person again.  I can’t.”  

 

“I understand that,” he murmurs, wiping at his face exhaustedly.  “And I don’t want you to be someone you’re unhappy with.  I know all too well what that’s like, feeling out of control and hating the person you are and the things you do.”  His gaze is hard as steel, trying to make her understand.  “But we’re in this together now.”

 

He can tell by her confused expression that she’s not quite following what he’s saying.  He tries again.  “We need each other now, Veronica.  There’s no escaping this.”  He gestures between them.  “You remember what happened this morning?”  She does.  All too well.  “The police are looking for you, Veronica.  They know what we did.  And now that they believe you’re guilty, they won’t stop looking for you until you’re caught.”

 

Veronica can feel her breathing stop.  Panic begins to set it.   _Holy fuck._

 

_What have I gotten myself into?_

 

Her breathing quickens and quickens and quickens and she can see in J.D.’s expression that he’s realized the err in what he’s said.  His eyes widen and he reaches for her.  “Oh no, no, no.  It’s alright.  Hey, calm down, it’s going to be okay.”  She can feel her pulse everywhere and can’t breathe, and the tears are streaming down her face, and _God, what have I done?_

 

J.D. moves around to sit on the other side of the booth and cups her face before bringing it to rest on his shoulder, pushing her hair away from her face and rubbing soothing circles into her back.  “It’s alright.  I can still get us out of this.  We’ll be alright, I promise.  You’ll keep me human and I’ll help you disappear.  We need each other.  But we’ll be just fine.”

 

And, so help her God, she knows he’s right.  

 

And she believes him.  


	5. I was meant to be yours.

 

 

Two weeks later Veronica still has no idea what she’s doing.  They’re in Kansas somewhere, she thinks.  Honestly, she can’t keep it all straight anymore.  The last few weeks have been a never-ending stream of random jumps around the country and seedy motel rooms.  They’re somewhere along Route 66 now, unsuspecting and quaint.  

 

She hasn’t called her parents.  She’s sure they’re worried sick about her but she can’t bring herself to pick up the phone.  She knows that she shouldn’t anyway.  Calls can be traced and the police would be expecting her to call her parents anyway.  No, she has to stay in the shadows.  Invisible and quiet.  Like the ghosts that have been haunting her for the past four years.  Even then she knows that eventually they could find her, the police.  Like J.D. said, they know what she did.  They’re looking for her.  And they don’t just let murderers off the hook.  Any minute they could burst through the door and take her down.  

 

When she lets herself think about it, it terrifies her.  

 

Yet, despite the imminent doom she feel leering over her, she still feels oddly relaxed.  Safe.  J.D. told her he’s been trying to change and every single day she sees evidence of it.  He’s calmer, more gentle.  Less manic.  Whereas before he was chaotic and intense, now the anarchy is gone and the intensity is more of a low simmer.  He’s still just as passionate though.  In everything he does, it’s about ten times more fierce than she anticipates.  The way he comforts her so genuinely shocks her.  They way he plans where they’re going, with so much detail she can’t comprehend how he thinks it all up.  Even the way he drinks his tea is precise and controlled.  

 

And when he starts to slip, and she can see the panic, the desperate hostility in his eyes that she knows terrifies him so much, he removes himself.  Steps back, sits down, and breathes.  Sometimes for seconds, sometimes for hours.  She knows that he’s afraid of turning back into the person he was.  Especially when they argue.  When he’s frustrated with her and starts to get angry she knows what flashes into his mind.  When she left him and he accidentally pointed his gun at her.  And then again later when he did it on purpose.  She knows because that’s what she sees too.  And she hates herself for it.  She knows he’s not like that anymore.  She can _feel_ it.  He tried so hard to change because he’s terrified of losing her again.  

 

Sometimes the way he looks at her scares her.  Not because she’s afraid of him.  She not.  But because there is so much intensity there, so much electricity between them that when they lock eyes across the room it crackles and pops and she wants nothing more than to launch across the room and let him hold her.  Tight and comforting and all-consuming, the way he used to.  But she won’t let herself.  She can’t.  

 

Sometimes she thinks about Colin, although admittedly not as often as she probably should.  When she notices the weight of her engagement ring on her finger she’s reminded that this, what’s happening, isn’t just some fantasy she made up in her mind.  It’d be a pretty fucked up fantasy anyway.  This is really happening.  She’s really on the run with her no-longer-dead ex-boyfriend while being pursued by the police and her current fiancé for committing triple homicide back in high school.  She really left her entire life behind in the blink of an eyes to avoid prison.  She really ran out on her education less than a month short of graduation.  She really shares a room with an the recovering psycho/ex-love of her life every night and fights the urge to climb into bed with him and let him hold her.  She’s really haunted by three ghosts/figments of her imagination on a daily basis.  What has become of her life?

 

She really needs a hug.  

 

She’s laying on the bed with an arm over her eyes when she calls for him.  Immediately he pops his head out from behind the bathroom door and smiles at her.  “What’s up?”  He’s rubbing his hair dry with a towel after just getting out of the shower, pulling his t-shirt down all the way.  When he sees her trouble expression though, he abandons the towel and speeds towards her.  She reaches for him like a child for their mother, seeking love and comfort and understanding.  She _feels_ childish.  “Hey, what’s wrong?”  His eyes are wide and concerned and so, so honest.

 

Veronica can feel her lip trembling and her eyes watering and her heart shattering as his arms wrap around her.  He strokes her hair and she breaks apart like a balloon popped by a bullet - quick and fast and explosive.  Her sobs wrack her body and she feels ridiculous and panicked.  

 

“Come on, Veronica.  Tell me what’s wrong, baby.  It’s okay.”  His lips are right next to her ear his hands are in her hair and she’s curled up into him and she feel like she _can’t breathe, dammit._

 

“Hey come one.  Breathe, breathe with me.  It’s alright.  I’ve got you.  Just breathe.”  His thumbs are stroking her cheeks now and he’s holding her so that she can’t look away from his eyes.  Brown and sincere and so understanding.  She couldn’t look away if she wanted to.  And she doesn’t want to.  

 

He forces her to breathe with him, in and out, inhale exhale.  For minutes until she can feel herself calm.  When her panic finally shudders to a halt she sags against his chest, let’s him hold her hand and stroke her back soothingly.  

 

“I’m so afraid,” she finally says minutes or hours later.  The late afternoon light is shining through the closed blinds and it makes his eyelashes look almost red.  

 

“Of what?” he asks, holding her chin.  

 

“Of being caught, going to prison.  Having to admit what we did.  Of losing you again.”  She can hear his heart beat a bit faster and that through his shirt.   “I don’t know if I could go through that again.”

 

“Veronica.” His voice makes her chest warm.  “No one is ever going to hurt you again, okay?  I promise.”  He kisses her temple.  “And I’m not going anywhere.”  It’s murmured into her hair so gently she believes him.  

 

They lie there for a while longer.  She’s drifting off to sleep, snuggled into his chest, when the door bursts open and they’re surrounded by shouting.  Her eyes widen as J.D. shoves her off the other side of the bed, shielding her from the intruders.  She’s peaks around the corner of the bed, staying low, and catches sight of the swarm of police standing in their motel room.  Their guns are trained on J.D. and Veronica’s heart is nothing but a pounding lump caught in her throat.  

 

J.D. raises his hands slowly above his head, signaling surrender.  One of the officers steps towards him menacingly and she can’t contain her gasp. _No!_ It’s screamed inside her head but they hear it.  Their guns immediately train away from J.D. and towards her head peaking out from behind the corner of the bed.  

 

All at once a million things happen.  J.D. jumps in front of her.  No triggers hadn’t been pulled until he moved.  But when he does all hell breaks loose.  A steady stream of bullets rains down on them and she can feel more than see when more than one hit J.D. square in the chest.  She can’t hear her own screaming through the sound of the gunfire but her throat hurts something terrible so she knows she must be doing it.  When J.D. hits the floor with a sickening _thump_ the fire stops.  

 

Her face is wet with tears as she crawls towards him, completely ignoring the police shouting at her.  Her chest feels like it’s been shredded to pieces when she see the blood pooling on J.D.’s T-shirt.  Through all of the yelling she can’t hear herself screaming and crying and begging him to stay.  She says his name over and over again like a prayer.  It is one.  

 

One of the policemen grabs her by the wrists and pulls her up, dragging her away from his body, unmoving and terrifying.  She struggles and struggles and _shoves and pushes_ and _struggles_ but the officer is too strong.  He’s dragging her out the door, away from J.D.

 

He promised he wasn’t going anywhere.  She couldn’t leave him either.  She won’t.

 

But the grips on her wrists are so strong and restricting and screams and screams and screams.

 

And blinks awake.  

 

J.D.’s grip on her wrists is strong and comforting and there and _alive_.  

 

She feels like she can breathe again. 

 

“Oh, my God.”  Her breath shudders through her lungs at lighting speed.  Her vision is too focused, too clear.  

 

“Veronica, are you okay?”  She can’t look at him, afraid of seeing blood on his clothes.  “Hey, it was just a dream.  It’s alright.”  

 

“A dream,” she repeats, dazed.  She can see the difference now.  This is reality.  The shadows are less severe and the light less blinding.  It’s not as foggy or fuzzy.  She can feel his hands around her wrists.  It doesn’t feel weightless and cloud-like anymore.  It feels firm and steady.  Real. 

 

She’s awake.  

 

“Sorry, I-I just.”  She doesn’t know what to say. _I just watched you die.  Again._

 

“It’s alright,” he says, letting go of her and backing away to the other side of the room, toward the still glowing desk lamp where he obviously wasn’t sleeping despite the late hour.  “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”  

 

She feels his lack of touch like a hole in her chest.  It hurts.  She doesn’t want to hurt anymore.  “Wait.”  Her turns back to her and gazes at her curiously.  It’s been two weeks since she ran away with him.  The most contact they’re had since holding hands in the diner has been nothing more than passing grazes.  A brushing of shoulders here, a hand off the bike there.  Nothing more.  

 

She’s afraid to touch him too much. Afraid to get addicted to him again like she was before.  They sleep in different beds.  Change clothes in the bathroom despite having seen each other before.  When she holds onto him on the bike it is loose and pliant.  She knows that if she clings too hard she’ll never let go.  

 

She has a fiancé.  She finds herself having to remind herself of that more frequently than she’d care to admit.  She finds herself forgetting about Colin a lot.  When she watches J.D. sleep soundly from across the room in her own bed.  When they’re sitting down eating lunch and it feels comfortable, domestic even.  When their gazes meet or their fingers brush and every single speck of electricity in the world circles around them like birds on prey.   _Colin who?_ And when she does think of Colin, it’s often their last encounter.  Him yelling, him throwing things, accusing her, angry with her.  

 

_Don’t call me._

 

What makes her feel worst though is that she’s not sad about it.  She knows that their engagement, and by extension, relationship, is over but she can’t bring herself to care.  She’s sure that says something about her as a person, but she just doesn’t know _what_.  

 

“Come here,” she finally says, reaching for J.D. like she did in her dream.  She doesn’t care.  She doesn’t care, _doesn’t care._  She needs him.  Needs him to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay.  Like he did in her dream.  Like he used to do.  

 

His lips quirk up into a tiny smile and he’s immediately there, climbing under the covers and wrapping his arms around her so tight she feels it in her soul.  One arm around her neck and the other around her waist, she feels safe and secure.  Her nose is pressed firmly into the skin of his neck and he smells just like he always did, like sugar and cedar and sweat.  It’s eternally comforting.  

 

“I missed you so much.”  She admits it unapologetically.  It’s taken her two weeks to allow herself to utter the words but they’re out there now.  She’s said them.

 

She can feel him smile.  “I missed you too.”

 

“Right after you died, or I thought you died, I guess, I didn’t realize how much I would miss you.  I was just so confused by everything that had happened.  It all went so fast, you know?  When I went to the school to stop you, I didn’t plan on making it out alive.  I think it was equal parts not wanting to have to deal with what we’d done, and not wanting to live without you despite it all.  Even when you terrified me I still wanted to be with you.  I still chose you.  I wanted to die with you.  When I ended up making it out, I don’t know if I was more relieved or disappointed.”

 

He doesn’t say anything for a long minute.  Then, “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about everything I made you do.  And I’m sorry for leaving you to deal with the consequences by yourself.  And I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner.”  

 

Veronica cuddles into his chest deeper.  “It’s alright.”

 

He brings a hand to cup her face and pulls her up so they are face-to-face.  “Look at me.  I may be sorry for a lot of things, but I am _not_ sorry that you lived.  I _never_ want _anything_ bad to happen to you.  Ever.”  His eyes are angry and fierce.  She’s not afraid.  “Don’t ever tell me you wished you had died.  Never say that too me, do you understand?  You are the only good I can see in this entire damned world.  I cannot imagine how shitty and horrible it would be without you in it.  You would live forever if I had anything to say about it.”

 

She knows he thinks she’s some perfect angel.  But she’s not. She’s sinned just as much as he has.  

 

She smiles at him gently but say nothing, instead pushing his hair off his forehead and hugging him close, settling against him again.  

 

“I thought you were a ghost,” she says.

 

“What?”  He sounds equal parts confused and amused.

 

“A ghost.  Or maybe just a figment of my imagination or whatever.  I see Heather and Kurt and Ram all the time.  It’s so normal to me now.  When you popped up in my bathroom I thought you were just like them.  Something my mind conjured up to help me through.  But then you touched me and,” she pauses.  “I felt it.  The warmth of your skin, the spark that was there.  None of the others have ever touched me.  So, when you did I knew it was really you.  I was so relieved.  And afraid.”  

 

She can feel him smile.  “So, you see dead people, huh?”  

 

“You don’t?”  She asks, as if he’s the odd one here.

 

“No.”  He tucks hair behind her ear.  “But I told you.  I don’t feel guilty for what we did.  You do, maybe that’s why you see them still.  I wish I could feel guilty, but I don’t.  Plus, having to see those three constantly for the rest of my life would be torture.”

 

She smiles.  “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you weren’t just another ghost.  I’m glad you found me and I’m glad you came back.”  

 

A somber feeling settles around him then.  She can feel it like rain affecting a weak joint.  “I’m sorry I came in and fucked your whole life up, Veronica,” he finally says, minutes later.  “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Hey,” she pushes, sitting back up to look him in the eye again.  “I’m not.”  She holds his hands in hers tightly, afraid to let go, just like she knew she would be.  “You saved me.  You came back just when I needed you and you’re still saving me now.  I don’t regret that for a minute so don’t you dare be sorry.”

 

“But I-“

 

“I love you.”  She cuts him off and the room goes still.  He looks at her incredulously.  The words have been there for days, maybe even weeks.  She never stopped loving him.  Ever.  She was just afraid to say it.  She takes a deep breath.  “I love you, J.D.  I never stopped.  I know I shouldn’t and I know we’re in so much trouble but I can’t bring myself to care.  I love you and I’m glad you came back and I’m glad you’re alive and I’m glad that I _love_ you.”  She holds his face in her hands so that he can’t look away.  So that he _gets it._  “Do you understand?”

 

He doesn’t say anything, just nods.  She smiles at him once more, laying a kiss at the corner of his mouth, and lies back down on his chest, snuggling close.  Her eyes are just slipping closed minutes later when she hears him say it.  

 

“I love you too, Veronica.”


	6. I will fight for you if you will fight for me.

 

When they pull up to a gas station with an adjoining 7/11 a week later somewhere near the border of Texas and New Mexico, Veronica can’t help but smile.  

 

J.D. takes her hand and helps her off the bike before turning to fill the tank.  She stretches her legs gratefully because, damn she’s sore.  Riding the motorcycle across the country isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing she’s ever had to do.  Muscles that she didn’t even know she had ache.  “I’ll just be a minute.”

 

“Take your time, I gotta pee,” she says nonchalantly, brushing past him.  

 

“Thanks for sharing.”  He grabs her wrist and pulls so they’re face to face, dropping a kiss on her lips so quick and chaste the butterflies in her stomach instantly become giddy.  

 

“Shut up.”  It’s murmured against his smile and she can feel her own stretching across her lips.  She shoves him away playfully and strolls into the store, asking the attendant for the key to the outdoor attached bathroom.  When she comes back out J.D. winks as he passes on his way inside to pay.

 

To be completely honest, she’s not exactly sure how they’re paying for everything.  The gas for the bike, the motel rooms, the endless diner meals.  Even the few clothes and essentials they’d stopped and bought for her a few days after they took off.  She knows it can’t be cheap and feels kind of bad for not helping to contribute, but she didn’t exactly have time to grab her life savings on the way out through the fire escape.  

 

She’s seen the stacks of cash J.D. keeps in their small, shared bag.  At first she’d been afraid that he’d stolen it all somehow but when she’d asked where he’d gotten it he’d said that he’d earned it doing odd jobs over the last few years.  She supposes that makes sense.  He wouldn’t lie to her anyway.  Not anymore, at least.  

 

Still though, she knows he worries about them running out soon.  The stacks have been dwindling fast what with the insane costs of being on the run.  ( _Jesus, on the run_ , she thinks.   _My life is a freaking James Cameron movie._ )  She just hopes that everything turns out alright in the end.  She makes a mental note to mention it as she washes her hands.

 

She wipes the excess water off on her sweater because there’s no paper towel - _figures_ , and heads out.  She’s halfway back to the main store when she becomes aware of the second pair of footsteps behind her, and just rounding the corner when someone grabs her by the shoulder.  

 

“Excuse me, miss.  You dropped this.”  Veronica stares at the five dollar bill the man is holding out to her hesitantly.  She didn’t drop five dollars because she doesn’t have five dollars.  J.D. carries all the money.  But, the smile the man is shooting her is more creepy than sincere and makes her heart pick up a beat faster.  

 

“Um, no.  Sorry.”  She smiles back at him as best she can.  “It must have been someone else.” She shrugs.  “Thanks, though.”  

 

This time as she’s turning away he grabs her by the shirt, more forcefully and a lot my threatening.  “Are you sure?  I’m just trying to be a nice guy, here.”  He smells like whiskey and smoke.  Veronica gags on it.  She steps away forcefully, defensively.

 

“Listen, it’s not mine okay!”  It comes out louder and more hysterical than she means it to, but this man scares her.  He has a manic look in his eyes, hungry and determined.  “Please, just leave me alone, alright?”

 

When he grabs her this time it hurts, especially when the back of her head hits the brick wall with a _smack_.  She groans in pain but it’s cut off by the acrid stench of his breath in her face as he growls at her.  “Listen, bitch.  You don’t get to walk away from me.  No one gets to walk away from me.”  His expression softens slightly, replacing the menacing scowl to a sly smirk.  “Besides, I did something nice for you.”  His finger are on her waist, creeping up under her shirt.  “I deserve some thanks, don’t you think?”  Veronica shudders in disgust.

 

He has her pinned up against the wall so tight she can’t breathe without feeling his body on hers.  She cringes away from his hot breath on her face and the menacing tone in his voice.  He is repugnant. 

 

Still, she did not live her life, work her ass off, and go on the run from the police just to end up as some sexual abuse statistic.  So instead of cowering, she sets her jaw and steels her spine.

 

“Get.  Off of me.”  She tries to make her own growl as fearsome as his was.  It doesn’t appear to have it’s desired affect, though, because his expression hardens even more.  Veronica can feel his muscles tensing as he draws his arm back, ready to strike any second.  His hand must be inches from her face when it happens because she can feel the wind of it against her skin.  She closes her eyes in preparation.

 

When she opens them again a moment later the man’s not in front of her anymore.

 

Instead he’s up against the wall next to her, holding his bleeding nose.  J.D. is standing in front of him, hands fisted in the man’s shirt, face only inches apart.  “Dude, what the fuck!” the man cries, tilting his head back against the wall to try and stop the bleeding.  It’s slowly slipping down his face and soaking into his shirt around J.D.’s fists.  

 

“She said to get off of her.”  He growls it so low that Veronica can barely hear it.  She can see how tense his jaw is, how much he’s trying to hold himself back.  

 

“Whatever, dude,” the man says, shoving J.D. back and turning to walk away.  Veronica breathes a silent sigh of relief, thankful that J.D.’s reaction wasn’t as bad as it could have been.  They are so close to being in the clear until the man curses over his shoulder.  “She’s a fucking bitch anyway.”

 

J.D. goes impossibly stiffer all at once before grabbing the man by the neck of his shirt and shoving his up against the wall again.  Veronica scrambles to get out of the way, stepping behind the towering protection of J.D.’s broad shoulders.  

 

She blinks, and when she looks again the man is shouting “fuck!” as J.D. points a gun between his eyes.  The man is holding his hands up in surrender, visibly shaking.  “Fuck, dude.  Don’t shoot me, please!”  

 

Veronica knew he had the gun.  She’d seen him clean it countless times over the past few weeks.  And she isn’t surprised that he’s carrying it.  They’re on the run for fuck’s sake.  People are after her, trying to lock her up or hurt her - and J.D.’s main concern has always been keeping her safe.  Still, it’s unnerving to see him behind it’s barrel again.  It’s too eerie, too familiar.  

 

She’s honestly not surprised when Heather pops up behind her not seconds later.  “Well, well, well _this_ must be familiar to you boys.  Deja vu much?”  

 

“Yeah,” Ram agrees.  “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this before.  Haven’t you, Kurt.”  

 

“Mhmm.  Like it was yesterday.”  

 

Veronica ignores them as best she can.  She doesn’t want to think about them.  Doesn’t want to be taken back to that cemetery four years ago, horrified and confused as she and J.D. stood over Ram and Kurt’s dead bodies, him looking too comfortable holding those guns.

 

Now, his arm is incredibly steady, never wavering as he hold’s it eye-level with her attacker.  “And why shouldn’t I, huh?”  His voice is furious.  “Why shouldn’t I just end you right now.”

 

“J.D., please.”  It’s quiet, a whisper.  She’s not afraid of him.  She knows he’d never hurt her.  She’s afraid _for_ him.  

 

Veronica knows that J.D.’s biggest struggle is walking the fine line between wanting desperately to protect and defend her, and keep himself from becoming violent again.  She knows he still gets angry, sees how he removes himself from stressful situations.  She sees the way the cogs in his mind turn as he _thinks_ before he acts.  He works so hard to remain in control of his anger, of his desperation.  

 

And all it takes is one drunken asshole outside of a gas station to ruin all of his hard work.  He’ll hate himself for allowing himself to become violent.  He’ll think he’s unstable, try and remove itself from the situation like he always does.  He’ll try to walk away from her because he thinks he’s too dangerous to be allowed around her.  Veronica knows she can’t let that happen.  

 

There are tears running down the man’s face and little splats of red on the ground around them.  Veronica doesn’t see any of it.  All she see’s is the terrifying, _murderous_ look in J.D.’s expression.  She doesn’t hear the man’s cries of fear, only hears J.D.’s _I’ve been trying to be better, Veronica.  I’ve been getting better.  I promise._

 

He _has_ been getting better.  And that’s why she can’t let him do this. 

 

“J.D. stop!”  She cries, shaking herself out of her shock. It’s loud but not loud enough to be heard over the man’s wails of fear.  “Stop, you don’t want to do this!” 

 

He doesn’t hear her.  There’s a thick veil over his mind, keeping out every thought that isn’t violent.   _Protect.  Destroy._ All he see’s is the asshole in front of him.  The asshole that tried to hurt Veronica.  That dared to take advantage of her.   _Protect.  Destroy._

 

“Why should I let you go, hmm?  So that you can go after some other innocent girl?  Try to hurt other people?”

 

“J.D., please stop it.  That’s enough!”  Veronica grabbing him by the elbow  but he shakes her off.  He pushes the barrel of his gun flush to the man’s forehead, who shudders horribly and sobs.  

 

“It’s asshole’s like you that make this world a bad place.  Assholes like _you_ don’t _deserve_ to live!”  He’s shouting and it sounds ruthless.  His jaw is impossibly tight and if he were to take the gun away from the man’s head there would be indentations there.  He looks murderous.  

 

The blood in her veins goes cold.  

 

“J.D., please stop!  You’re scaring me!”

 

That instantly breaks him out of his rage.  Her voice, shaken and desperate is like the anti-venom to a lethal snake bite, it soothes his mind and he can instantly _see_ again.  

 

His eyes widen and he steps back from the man, dropping his arms to his sides in shock.  The man sags in relief, which almost instantly angers him again.  “Get out,” J.D. growls it and steps towards the man threateningly.  “Go before I change my fucking mind.”  

 

The man is instantly gone, running for his car like he’s being chased by wild animals.  Veronica feels like she can breathe again.  When his headlights finally disappear into the distance, J.D.’s whole body seems to sag.  

 

“Fuck,” he curses himself, sliding down the brick wall and collapsing, head in his hands.  “ _Fuck_.”

 

“Hey,” she says soothingly, kneeling down in front of him and taking his hand.  Heather, Kurt, and Ram are nowhere in sight.  All she sees is him.  “Hey, it’s alright.”

 

“Fuck,” he says again, planting his forehead against her sternum defeatedly.  “Fuck, Veronica.  I’m so sorry.”

 

She wraps her fingers in his hair and holds him closer.  “It’s alright. You stopped,”  she says, stroking his back.  “Thank you for stopping.”

 

He exhales a laugh, astonished by her ability to forgive.  “Thank _you_.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For stopping me.  Jesus, Veronica you have no idea what I could’ve - what I wanted to-”.  He trails off, pressing his face more firmly into her sweater before- “Fuck.”

 

She can feel him shaking, horrified with what he’s done, what he’d come so close to doing.  For once, Veronica is more than happy to be his anchor instead of the other way around.  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers again.  “I’ve been trying so hard.  I want to be better.  A better person, for myself.  For you.  I can’t believe I just lost it like that.”  He sounds so ashamed of himself.  It breaks her heart.  “I can’t believe-”

 

“Hey,” she says, cupping his jaw so he’s forced to meet her eye.  “Look at me.”  His eyes are watery and she’s smiles down at him as gently as she knows how.  “I know you’ve been working on it.  And I’m proud of you, okay?  You have to know that.  This,” she says, motioning vaguely.  “Was just a set back.  Was it bad?  Yes.  Couldn’t it have been worse?  Definitely.  But all we can do now is move on and keep working on it.  Together.  Alright?”  

 

His tears finally spill over as he wraps his arms snugly around her, overwhelmed by her understanding, her forgiveness.  Her love.  “What would I do without you?”

 

“You’ll never have to find out,” she replies, kissing him soundly for a long moment before pulling on his hand and dragging him back towards the bike.

 

+

 

Hours later, the drunken man sits alone in a booth at a 24 hour diner nursing his broken nose and fractured ego.  He sips silently from his cup of coffee as the diner’s tv drones on as white noise in the background.

 

“Can I get you anything else, hun?” the waitress asks, patting his shoulder and eyeing his purple nose curiously.

 

“Just the check.”  She nods before heading back behind the register.  As she walks away the latest news story catches his attention on the tv, the picture of a pretty, young, familiar looking brunette girl flashes across the screen.  “Hey, can you turn the tv up a notch?”  The waitress does so without pause and the man leans forward in his seat, listening intently to the newscaster.  

 

_“A massive manhunt is still on in search of twenty-two year old Veronica Sawyer.  A native of Sherwood, Ohio, Sawyer is responsible in the brutal murders of three of her former high school classmates four years ago in 1989.  She evaded capture almost a month ago when authorities invaded her apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts with an arrest warrant for the triple homicide.  Police are searching to find her, but so far are coming up empty.  She has no known accomplices but is considered to be dangerous.  If you have any knowledge on her whereabouts please contact your local police department immediately.”_

 

The man is up and throwing a few rumpled bills on the table before the piece is even over.  He’s out the door, in his car, and standing in the police station in a matter of minutes.  The officer at the desk eyes him questioningly.

 

“I have information on that girl everybody’s looking for.  Sawyer, I think her name is.”

 

“What can you tell us?” asks the officer, taking up a pen and paper, instantly alert at the news.

 

“She’s here, in town. At least she was a few hours ago.  She and her psycho boyfriend attacked me outside the gas station on Third.”

 

“Boyfriend?”  The officer asks skeptically.  “She doesn’t have any accomplices.”  

 

“She sure does,” the man insists.  “He’s the one that broke my fucking nose.  J.D., she called him, I think.”

 

“ _‘Veronica Sawyer and J.D.’_ “ The officer writes down every word the man says.  “Interesting.”


	7. Hey, could you hold my hand?  And could you carry me through No-Man’s-Land?

 

 

The following morning, J.D. sleeps in until early afternoon.  When Veronica wakes up and snuggles down into the sheets, she expects to find them cool to the touch.  Instead, she ends up burrowed into a still snoozing J.D.

 

She’s confused for a moment, convinced that it must be by some severe act of God that she’s up so early that he’s still asleep.  He’s normally up and about hours before she even stirs.  But when she sees the time, half eleven, she can’t help but smile a little.  She’s never seen him sleep in before.  Not in the month since they’ve been gone together, nor the time they knew each other back in high school.  

 

He claims he’s too restless to get much sleep.  Too many thoughts buzzing around in his head.  But she’s knows how utterly exhausted he is, especially after the incident at the gas station the night before.  When they’d finally gotten settled into a new motel room somewhere a little further into New Mexico, he’d almost immediately conked out, collapsed face first onto the bed, shoes still on, fully clothed, and passed out.  It was only after bugging him relentlessly for a good ten minutes that he’d finally grumbled and shucked off his shoes, T shirt, and jeans, before falling face first into the pillows once more.  

 

Now, he looks peaceful.  His face is relaxed and free of calculations and planning.  He’s so different from the boy she sees during the day.  It’s relaxing to watch and she fights the urge to snuggle closer and fall back asleep.  But she’s already been asleep longer than she usually likes to be so instead she kisses his cheek, smiling at the adorable crinkle his nose gets at the contact, and rolls out of bed.  

 

She stumbles into the shower and through her morning routine.  Washing her body, brushing her teeth, putting on lotion, combing her hair.  She changes into a clean pair of panties and throws on the button down J.D.’d wrapped her in when he’d stolen her away from her shower.  She instantly feel so at ease.  The monotony of the process is comforting.  If she closes her eyes she can pretend she’s living another life.  A simple, boring one.  It would be nice, she thinks.  Waking up next to J.D. every morning, living a low-key existence.  Drinking tea and seeing movies and going out on romantic dinner dates.  

 

She knows that that could never be them though.  They’re not low-key or simple at all.  Or boring.  They’re the ones that kill people, go on the run from cops, almost blow up a school full of kids, pull guns on assholes at the gas station.  A regular Bonnie and Clyde.  

 

It’s exciting, she thinks.  Which is fucked up, but true.  She’s always gotten that eruption of butterflies whenever she’s been around J.D.  That knowledge that he’s mysterious and dangerous and strong and _cares about her._  She’s always loved that about being with him.  But, there’s the darker part of their relationship that she loves too.  The sneaking through bedroom windows in the middle of the night and the arguing and, yes, even the danger and immorality that they face every day, and always have from the day they both watched Heather Chandler drink that mug of fucking drain cleaner.  

 

_You know exactly what he is and you love it,_ Heather’s ghost had said to her years ago.  And she was right.  

 

Veronica loved the uncertainty, the excitement of it all.  She can’t deny it anymore.  

 

There _is_ something romantic about being on the run with him.  Her heart beating harder and faster in her chest whenever they drive past a cop on the highway to another city, followed by the utter contentedness of lying close to one another at night, only a breath away and feeling the other’s body heat.  Going from danger to calm, danger to calm, danger to calm.  It’s exciting.  She feels like she’s in some sort of action movie, a fearless heroin on the run with her lover.  

 

She guesses she kind of is.  

 

There’s another thing that sticks in her mind though, and that’s the guilt of being happy.  As much as she’d rather not admit it, she _is_ happy doing what they’re doing.  Which is a whole other branch of fucked up.  She’s _happy_.  She’s happy being with him and riding across the country.  She’s happy lying next to him in bed at night, holding his hand when they walk into a diner together.  She _wants_ to be with him and she’s _happy_ being with him.  

 

Does that mean she’s happy being criminal?  Or does she just like the excitement of it all?  She’s not sure.  Which worries her.  

 

And what does it say about her that she’s happier without a home, living out of a backpack, with a criminal, than she ever was with her perfect, safe, reliable fiancé?  Probably nothing good but she can’t deny anymore that what she felt with Colin was contentment, not happiness.  

 

She’d settled.  

 

It’s a hard thought for her to process because Colin is such a good person.  A reliable man who is kind and sweet to her, with a real job, who _loved_ her.  There was literally not a thing wrong with him.  And compared to J.D., he is practically a saint. She just doesn’t love him.  And although she feels bad, knowing that he’s probably confused and hurt by what she’s done, _everything_ she’s done, and the way she left things with him, she can’t bring herself to regret it.  

 

Because what she has with J.D. means something.  It matters.  And it makes her feel alive like she’s never felt before.  And she’s thankful for that.

 

With that thought in mind she wrings a last bit of water from her hair and pads back over to the bed.  It’s quarter after twelve now and J.D. is still snoozing peacefully, sprawled out on his side of the bed.  He shift when her weight dips down on the bed as she huddles up against him under the covers.  She presses cold toes to his bare shins.  His nose wrinkles again and he blinks awake.  “Hey,” he mumbles, smiling lazily.  His voice is groggy from sleep and Veronica can feel the explosion of butterflies in her tummy a million times over.  

 

“Hey.”  She smiles back.  

 

He glances over to the window and, through the closed curtains, is blinded by the mid-day sun.  He rolls over on top of her, pressing his full weight down into her body, and presses his face to her neck, groaning.  “It’s too early for this.”  

 

She laughs.  “It’s after noon.”  She relaxes back into the mattress, him of top of her, pliant and calm, her fingers in his hair.

 

“Shhhhh, no it’s not,” he mumbles into her skin. “You smell good.”  His cheek is pressed up against her wet hair and he can smell the motel’s complimentary soap on her skin.  It smells like eucalyptus.  Its smooth smell washes over him and relaxes him further.  He circles his arms underneath her back and holds tight, shifting so their positions are flipped and she’s lying on him now.  “Good morning.”

 

“I told you, it’s afternoon, dummy.”  He grins at her and shrugs.  “But good afternoon to you too.”  She takes his hand in hers, wrapping their fingers together like vines twisting  and locking into place.  “How are you?”  She rubs her thumb over the his bruised knuckles and looks at him earnestly.  

 

“He glances down towards their locked hands before meeting her eye again.  He doesn’t seem upset at the reminder of their less than stellar night, though.  He just smiles.  “I’m well, thank you.”  He kisses her palm.  “And how are you, my love?”  He’s been using pet names lately, and each time he comes out with a new one she internally swoons.  He’s ever the charmer. 

 

She shrugs and wrinkles her nose.  “Decent.”  

 

“Decent?” he asks, looking affronted.  “Decent, she says!  Well, we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?”

 

He cups her face and pulls her down.  She giggles as he kisses her deep, all affection and desire and _love_.

 

She lives for this. 

 

She lives for him.  

 

And she has since he first reminded her that she had a soul all of those years ago.  When he stood up to all of those bullies for her, fought for her.  When he told her to _live_ , to _keep going_ , took the bomb from her hands and died in her place.  She _lives_ for him.  

 

And now she’s reminded of it with his lips on her skin and his fingers between her legs and his breath mixed with hers.  She feels so completely and wonderfully _alive_.  And it’s because of him.  

 

He’s consumed her, body and soul.  And she couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

 

Now his skin is on her skin - hers perfectly smooth, his is covered in scars.  She probably shouldn’t find that as hot as she does. All she knows is that his hand is cupping her neck so that she can’t look away.  She’d never want to, anyway.

 

They’ve done this before, countless times.  But this time she feels exposed and vulnerable and she loves it.  It’s like every inch of her skin is a live wire, and every one of his touches, every brush of his skin against hers is like drops of water sending sparks, crackling and popping against her chaotic energy.  She loves it.

 

He pins her down and she loves that more.  She tries to move her hips in tandem with his fingers but he won’t allow it.  She’s going crazy.  His weight on top of her is too much and not enough and all she wants is “more.”  She begs for it, isn’t above the breathy whine she lets out because she _needs_ him.  And he knows it.

 

But he’s an asshole and just smirks.  His other hand is still around her neck, eyes locked on hers like if they blink for even a second the whole world will tumble away.  Veronica isn’t sure that it won’t.  But his gaze is so intense, so raw and pure and animalistic.  It is like she is looking up from underneath an endless, swirling sea.  She knows that it’s swallowing her up but she _doesn’t care_ because his thumb on her clit is just on the wrong side of _right there._  

 

She’s right there.  

 

He’s smirking down at her and it is so devilishly charming she can’t help but moan.  He pushes down harder on her clit and she squirms - either closer or further away she doesn’t know - but her hips are pinned and the struggle is half the fun.  

 

“Veronica.”

 

He says her name like it’s the only word he knows and that gets here right there, pressed up against the abyss she craves so delicately and so viciously all at once.  

 

Instinctively her head starts to tilt back as she’s getting closer, closer, so close, but he tightens his grip on the back of her neck and forces her to keep eye contact.  His thumb scrapes across her bottom lip and forces itself between her teeth when she gasps.  

 

His fingers stop moving over her clit.  For a minute.  Two.  He just stares down at her so heatedly, so lustfully and she _whines_.  It’s torture.  

 

Finally, he fingers pick up again, twice the speed, and he launches her over the edge into completion.  Her eyes flutter closed and she bites down on his thumb and _moans_.  Her body jolts and shivers underneath him, like the live wire he’d turned her into on day one, only getting steadily and more aggressively active.  

 

When she finally sags back agains the pillows her bones feel like they’re made of slush.  She’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly but that doesn’t seem to get in his way of kissing her belly, the underside of her breast, her collarbone, neck, jaw, and finally lips.  He kisses her until her heart stutters and she has to pull away to groan.  He instantly moves back down to her neck though, gentle teeth over her thin skin, biting and pulling and marking as his.  Because that’s what she is.  And he’s hers.  

 

His tongue soothes over his bite marks and the words slip out of her mouth on a moan, quick but true all the same.  “I love you.”

 

He stops his ministrations instantly and leans away, climbing back up her body until their noses are almost touching.  His expression is severe and genuine and honest.  “I love you too, Veronica.”  His hands are cradling her head, holding her gaze on his again, like he’s afraid she’ll look away for even a second and miss his meaning.  “Do you understand?  I love you so much.”  Her lips quirk up in an involuntary, exhilarated smile.  She nods and he instantly looks relieved. His eyes flutter closed and his forehead drops down to hers.  “So much.”

 

They stay like that until she ducks her head down and kisses down his neck sucking and biting and marking like he did to her.  They are each others.  

 

He hovers above her, the strong muscles in his arms flexing as he holds himself up.  She’s halfway down his chest when he grabs her by the forearms and pulls her up while flipping them over so she’s straddling him.  He leans against the headboard with her on top of him.  They are exactly eye-to-eye in this position and she feels like he is staring into her soul.  It wrecks her, tearing her insides apart in a swirl of endless, high butterflies and making her feel so _cherished_ as he stares directly at her like she’s the only thing in the entire world.  

 

They’re just sitting their grinning at each other like a couple of loons until she finally cracks, laughs over-joyously and jumps him.   They kiss like a couple of teenagers that are high off of each other.  She feels like they are.  Her skin doesn’t feel like a live wire anymore, but a low burn.  Like the smoldering coals left over at the end of a bonfire, subtle and glowing but still hot enough to burn if you get too close to them.  She wants nothing more than to be closer.  

 

She breaks away from their kiss and looks him in the eye before raising herself up fully on her knees, and sinking down onto him.  He stretches and fills her like they’re made for each other.  Veronica is convinced that they are.  Her arms are draped loosely around his neck and his warm hands are on her waist as he moves and lifts her up and down, up and down, never breaking eye contact.  

 

They are giddy and in love and smiling like they’ve just received the best news in the world.  They get to be together forever.  They’re all smiles until she shifts on top of him slightly and he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of her and she gasps loud.  Her spine goes ramrod straight, and then arches back.  J.D. holds her hips more firmly, ensuring that he hits that spot over and over again.  

 

The live wire sparks are back now, mixing with the low burn of before and Veronica can feel herself coming undone.  She collapses against him, unable to keep herself arched just so, and lands on his chest.  Her arms wrap more securely around his neck and her breathe is right in his ear, ruffling his heart and sending his heart into a frenzy.  He’s sucking on her collarbone and reaches down with one hand to circle her clit.  

 

She freezes up for only a moment, before falling head over heels into her orgasm.  Her muscles squeeze around him and he follows her only a second later, holding her impossibly closers, skin so closely on skin he’s not sure they'll ever be able to separate.  

 

As they come down, he rolls them to their sides.  Her legs are still wrapped around him and the cooling sweat on their skins pulls as their lungs heave, rising and falling like a burst of lava ready to pop.  

 

J.D. reaches down and pulls the sheet up over their bare bodies before kissing her nose and snuggling in close. 

 

They both fall back asleep soon after that.  

 

+

 

They decide to stick around (Hobbs, New Mexico, as it turns out) for another day or so.  They don’t really have much of a plan and determine that they might as well have one relaxing day before getting back on the bike and heading off to who-knows-where.  

 

They agree to treat themselves to a nice dinner out and manage to get into a fairly nice restaurant too.  Admittedly, they look extremely out of place, and even overhear an old woman complain about how they’re messing with the _ambiance_ of the restaurant in their _inappropriate_ _attire_.  Veronica doesn’t disagree with the woman, even if they are both wearing the nicer of their sets of clothes.  But she doesn’t really care either because J.D. is holding her hand across the table she feels like she’s got a little taste of normalcy for a minute.  

 

At least until she looks through the menu as sees the special - _pâté_.  Her heart lurches in her chest and J.D. doesn’t miss the way she stiffens and gets a wounded look on her face.  “What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned.

 

“I just-” she hasn’t even thought about her parents in days.  She knows they must be worried sick.  Confused and hurt because the news says they’re daughter is a murderer but all they want is her back.  The image of them crying over her sends pains through her chest.  “Do you ever miss your dad?”

 

J.D.’s expression turns sympathetic and he rubs his knuckle over the back of her hand.  “No,” he says genuinely.  “I wish I did but he just wasn’t a good enough parent for me to ever be attached enough to care.”  Veronica nods, knowing how right he is.  “My dad thinks I died four years ago in that explosion.  I plan on keeping it that way.”  He shrugs.  “It’s for the best.”  

 

“Yeah, I guess.”  She understands and even agrees with everything J.D. is saying, but still misses her own parents something fierce.  

 

“But hey,” he says, taking her other hand.  “I know you miss your folks, alright.  And I know you’re worried about them.  I’m sorry you haven’t been able to contact them yet.”  He kisses her palm.  “But we’ll find a way.  Soon.  I promise.”  He smiles at her and it melts her heart.  “Okay?”  She smiles back. 

 

“Okay.”  

 

The rest of dinner is nice.  They sit and chat and eat and the whole thing feels so damn domestic Veronica practically swoons.  She doesn’t care about being underdressed or the way the other patrons look at them funny or whisper about them.  All she cares about is him, and them.  

 

When the time comes they pay the check and stroll out of the restaurant hand in hand, happy just being together.  

 

They make it approximately three steps outside before red and blue lights are flashing around them and they have guns pointed at their heads.  


	8. I worship you.  I’d trade my life for yours.

 

 

“Veronica Sawyer and Jason Dean, put your hands on your heads and don’t move.  You are surrounded.”

 

They both freeze.  “Ohmygod.”  Veronica can actually feel her heart stop completely before picking up double time.  J.D.’s hand in hers is almost painful.

 

But he lets go and shoves her behind him.  His face is hard as stone, fierce and protective and if Veronica didn’t know it was all for her, she’d be afraid.  J.D. has always inspired fear in others.  Especially when he’s pulling the gun out of his waistband and pointing it at the policeman directly in front of them.  

 

Veronica can see the people inside the restaurant looking out the window curiously.  All of the eyes on them makes her uneasy.  But not as uneasy as having twelve guns pointed at her head.  She gently touches J.D.’s shoulder.  She’s afraid and knows that he is too.  

 

“Put the gun down, kid,” says one of the officers, stepping closer.  “If you plan on getting out of this alive you’ll drop your weapon.”  

 

“Like it matters, right?” it’s low and growled and terrifying.  “You’re just going to kill us anyway.  Death Penalty is legal in New Mexico, isn’t it Veronica?”  He doesn’t look at her, wouldn’t dare take his eyes off of the policemen boxing them in, but she knows he wants her to answer.

 

“Yeah,” her voice cracks.  “Yeah, I think so.”

 

“And I know it’s legal in Ohio.  So we’re dead either way, aren’t we?”  

 

Veronica can feel her chest start to constrict.  There are black edges creeping up on her vision.  She’s panicking.  J.D. must be able to tell because he reaches back and grabs at the hem of her shirt.  “It’s alright, love.  We can handle this.”

 

“J.D.”  She’s desperate.  Desperate to get out of this alive, to live with him and love with him and just, she’s so, so afraid.  

 

“It’s alright.  I promise.”

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, son,” says another officer, slowly approaching them, gun raised towards the center of J.D.’s forehead.  “Just drop your weapon and get on the ground.”  Veronica’s knees are shaking and she feels like she’s going to collapse anyway.  She starts to sink but J.D. yanks her back up.  

 

“No.”  It’s vicious but she knows him too well, can hear the desperation in his voice.

 

“There’s no way out of this, kid.  Just give up.”  J.D. just glares.

 

“He’s wrong.”  She jumps when Kurt and Ram pop up on either side of her, Heather off to the side.  She can feel J.D. stiffen at her sudden movement but as she settles so does he.  

 

“Ram’s right, Veronica.  They’ve only got you surrounded from the front,” Kurt agrees, motioning to the semicircle of cops crowding them against the backdrop of the restaurant.  

 

“What do you want me to do?  They’ve got a dozen guns on us.”  She whispers it, hoping no one will hear her but she’s so close against J.D.’s back it’s practically whispered in his ear.  He looks at her from the corner of his eyes, confused.  

 

“Just give me a second to think,” he whispers back, clearly thinking she had been talking to him.  

 

“Come on Miss Ivy League.  You’re a smart girl.  Figure it out,” Heather pipes up from somewhere behind her.  “Think.”

 

She knows that they’re right.  They’re her fucking subconscious after all.  But her mind is going a million miles a minute but not in the right way.  Instead of analyzing the situation and figuring out a plan and she can think is _we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die._

 

Her panic is inching in on her.  She feels like she’s trapped inside of a tiny, little, pitch dark box that’s going to explode any second.  She can’t see, can’t breathe, but she knows something is about to happy.  

 

Her mind is a whir of confused thoughts and jumbled words.  “God dammit, Veronica, _think_!” Heather shouts.  J.D.’s hand tightens in hers and suddenly her vision is crystal clear.  

 

Kurt is right.  The police only have the surrounded from the front.  Directly behind them, not even three steps, is the entrance to the restaurant.  The cops wouldn’t open fire into a building full of civilians.  So what they need is a distraction.  Something to get the cops to look away for long enough for them to go back into the restaurant, through the crowds, and out the back.  From there, if they’re fast enough, they can lose them amongst the back alleys surrounding the block.  It’ll be tricky.  Tricky, but not impossible.  

 

Now what they need is a distraction.  She wracks her brain for possibilities.  What do they have to work with?  Virtually nothing.  J.D.’s got a gun in his hand.  They’ve got the clothes on their backs and the will to live.  To be free.  

 

And the element of surprise.  

 

“J.D.” she whispers at him.  No one is moving.  It’s a dead show off between them and the authorities.  He makes a tiny noise to say that he’s heard her but doesn’t look away from their opponents.  “Tell them you’re going to surrender.”  His gaze snaps down to hers with furrowed eyebrows.  “Just do it,” she insists.  “Then kiss me.  I’ve got a plan.”  He’s obviously confused but trusts her.  He holds her gaze meaningfully for a moment before lifting the gun from its target.  

 

“Okay, okay.  You’ve got us.  Just give us a minute, will ya?”  His glare turns into a perfect, condescending, charming smirk before he turns from the cops completely, back to the policemen, and kissing her passionately all at once.  Veronica can tell the cops are bustling behind them but she’s too focused on him.  She can fell the tension and desperation in their kiss. 

 

They’re both terrified.  

 

She pulls away just enough so that their lips are still touching and it looks like they’re still kissing.  “How good is your aim,” she murmurs against him, so quiet she’s afraid he might not even be able to tell what she’s asking.  

 

“Damn near perfect,” he replies though, against her lips. _Why?_  The question is unspoken but she knows it’s there.  

 

“Streetlight,” she says simply.

 

She can feel him smirk against her lips before he kisses her deeply again.  “You’re a genius,” he says, planting a kiss on her forehead.  Her eyes flutter closed as he breathes against her skin, inhaling her scent as if it might be the last time he gets the chance.  It might very well be.  

 

Quicker than lightening he’s pivoting on his heel and aiming for the streetlight directly above the cluster of cops.  Before anyone can even blink he pulls the trigger exactly hitting his mark.  A shower of sparks rain down on the cops and they all duck for cover.  J.D. is pulling on her wrist so hard and fast after that she almost gets whiplash.  He drags her in front of him as they sprint back into the restaurant shielding her from what he knows is coming.  Veronica screeches as a shower of bullets comes down around them, shattering the glass on the door, embedding themselves in brick, and whizz past them, too close for comfort.  

 

They dart through the restaurant, in-between tables and around patrons, shoving chairs behind them to slow down the cops that are directly on their heels.  They make a hard left into the kitchen and J.D. shoves a shelf full of pots and pans in front of the door.  The chefs and waitresses look at them, alarmed, but J.D. is already grabbing her and sprinting towards the back door.  His fingers leave red streaks on her skin.  

 

Behind them the police are banging on the door into the kitchen, forcing it open and growing ever closer to them.  When they finally break through into the cool night air, she helps J.D. push a dumpster in front of the door and they’re off again, him right on her heels.  

 

It’s a never-ending twist of lefts and rights, through dark alleys, past glowing windows, and empty fire escapes.  Veronica can feel the heavy thump of their backpack against her spine - _thump, thump, thump._  It matches her racing heart.  

 

Finally after what seems like hours of running J.D. coughs and pulls back on her hand.  “Veronica, stop.”  He leans back against the brick wall of the alley and she listens for any signs of someone following them.  She’s satisfied after a minute when she hears nothing.  They must’ve lost them.  

 

She falls back against the wall next to J.D., breathing a sigh of relief, chest heaving.  “Thank God,” she mutters, trying to calm her erratic heart.  Her eyes are slipping closed as she tries to relax herself when she hears J.D. groan and hit the ground.  

 

“J.D.?” she asks, concerned and kneeling down next to him on the hard ground.  He’s propped up against the wall but his eyes are drooping.  “J.D.!”  She glances down at the red streaked on her wrist from where he’d grabbed her earlier.  “Ohmygod.”  She frantically pulls at his clothes, tugging his ripped t shirt away from his skin to reveal a long, red wound in his side.  She gasps, covering her mouth and feeling his wet blood sticking to her face.  “Jesus fuck, ohmygod, J.D.”

 

“It’s nothing,” he says groggily.  Grabbing for her hands, trying to comfort her. It’s ridiculous.  He’s been shot and he’s trying to comfort her.  “Hey, babe, come on.  I’m fine.”  He cups her face and Veronica can feel herself crying already.  She just got him back, she can’t lose him again.  “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

 

She hates herself.  This is her fault.  This is the third time he’s been hurt fighting for her.  She shot him the first time and blew him up the second.  This time, what if he didn’t make it.  What if she actually lost him this time.  How many lives did criminals get anyway?  

 

She shakily strips off her sweater and presses it to his side, applying pressure.  His eyes are drooping more and more by the second.  She has to get him out of here.  He was not going to bleed out in a fucking alleyway.  He was not going to die on her.  He’s _not_.  She takes his hands and presses them over the wound, holding her sweater down against the wet blood seeping through.  “Hold that there, okay?  I’ll be right back?”

 

She’s up and halfway out of the alleyway when he calls her back.  “Hey,” he says, groggy and terrifying.  “I love you.”

 

Her heart shatters.

 

“Shut up.  You’re not dying.”  And she sprints off.  

 

+

 

She makes it to a mostly empty parking lot a few minutes later.  There’s three cars there, all empty, and the streetlights above them are dim or burned out.  She knows she’s in a rough area, but right now that’s the last thing on her mind.  All she can think is that J.D. is dying. Again.  And it’s because of her.  If she’s too slow or gets caught he’ll bleed out in a fucking alleyway like street trash.  Like someone who no one cares about.  Like someone who is unloved.  

 

She knows she doesn’t have much time.  And neither does he.  

 

She checks to make sure no one is around before sprinting up to the first car - some flashy sports car.  The door is locked but she assumes that they all are.  

 

“That’s a good choice,” Ram says from behind her.  “It drives fast.  You’ll be able to get him to the hospital pretty quick.”

 

“She’s not taking him to a fucking hospital, dipshit.  They’re wanted for murder,” Heather chimes in, perched on the hood of the car.  “Ours, by the way.”  She tosses her hair over her shoulder.

 

“Can you both please shut up! I’m trying to think,” she growls, fully knowing that if someone comes across her she’ll look like a lunatic. 

 

“Don’t take that one,” Kurt adds, helpfully.  “It’s too flashy, red and expensive.  Not only will it attract attention but whoever owns it will miss it and file a report for it.  You don’t want to add that to your record.”

 

“So what do I do?”  She’s beginning to panic.  J.D. is dying.  He could already be dead.  Then what would she do? _Probably just give up_ , she think.  There’d be no point if he wasn’t there with her.  

 

“I’d take that one.”  Kurt points to an old rusted car.  “It’s old enough that it should be easy to break into, but not too old where the engine is shit.  Should go reasonably fast too.  But it’s a piece of junk, probably won’t be missed too much.”

 

Veronica approaches the car that’s halfway across the lot.  Behind her Heather hops off the hood of the sports car and follows close behind.  “What are you going to do, Veronica?  Hot wire a car? Steal it?”  Her snide voice is only a distraction from the task at hand.  “My, my, what have you become?  Murder and now grand theft auto?  What happened to good little Veronica, hm?”

 

“Shut up, Heather!”  She snaps it, can’t help herself.  Her mind is a jumble of panic and desperation.  

 

_I cannot lose him.  Not again._

 

She looks around again to make sure no one is watch before hitting the window with her elbow as hard as she can.  Pain explodes throughout her arm but the window remains in tact.  She groans and hits it again.  And again.  And again.  Nothing’s happening and she can feel frustrated tears slipping down her cheek.  “Come on!” she shouts, hitting it again.  The glass finally gives, shattering under the force of her hit and cutting into her already swelling elbow.  Her sobs of relief echoes through the empty lot. 

 

She reaches in though the busted window and unlocks the door, relieved when an alarm doesn’t go off.  She immediately jumps in and forces open the plastic cover on the steering column, pulling out the bundle of wires.  They’re already stripped meaning that someone had done this before.  It only works to her advantage.  She fumbles through the wires, racking her brain trying to remember how to do this.  She read about hot wiring cars years ago but has never actually done it.  

 

Her breathing is hard and she her chest feels tight.  She can’t remember which wires she needs.  And she needs to _right now._  Right _fucking_ now because J.D. is _dying_.  She’s scrambling, can feel herself losing control.  “It’s that one,” Ram says, leaning through the broken window and pointing at one wire.  She grabs it without hesitation and connects it to the twisted two.  The engine immediately sputters to life and she lets out a cry of success.  She throws the car into drive and speeds away, leaving Kurt, Ram, and a disgruntled Heather behind in the dust.  

 

Whens he screeches to a halt beside the mouth of the alley, J.D. is standing, leaning against the brick.  He’s holding his side and breathing impossibly hard, but looks relieved when she pulls up.  Veronica jumps out of the driver’s seat and rushes around to help him, putting her arm around his waist and half-dragging him to the car.  “What the fuck are you doing?  You should be sitting down,” she scolds.

 

“I got worried,” he smiles lazily.  “You were gone for a long time, babe.”  Veronica curses herself.  She curses him and his ability to make her heart stutter even when he’s so close to _fucking dying._

 

She knows what he’s doing.  He’s trying to make it seem like everything’s fine.  He’s charming as even even with a bullet in his side.  Honestly, though, Veronica is just glad he’s still conscious.  It’s truly an act of God.  

 

“For a second I thought you’d left me behind.”  He sounds breathless and half-asleep.  “I wouldn’t blame you.”

 

Veronica slams the door and buckles her seatbelt.  “Don’t be an idiot,” she says, throwing the car into drive again.  “I’d never leave you.”  

 

They take off at breakneck speed.  “Now buckle your fucking seatbelt.”  

 

She doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing or where she’s taking him or how she’s going to patch him up. 

 

But she’ll be damned if she loses him again.


	9. Cheek to cheek in hell with a dead girl walking.

 

Veronica’s not really sure how long they’ve been driving for.  Several minutes, she knows but if feels like seconds and hours all at the same time.  In the passenger seat, J.D. has his head pressed against the window.  His breathing is shallow and his eyes are closed but he’s there.  More importantly, he’s _alive_.  

 

She tries not to let her eyes drift from the road but she can’t help but constantly look over at him to make sure he’s still breathing.  She feels like any second he’ll slip away from her.  His hand is in hers across the center consul and every once in a while, even in his sleep, he gives it a little squeeze.  It’s comforting and frustrating at the same time.  She’s grateful for the proof that he’s still alive but every time it happens she thinks he’s starting to wake up and her heart stutters with hope, only to be crushed by disappointment and fear when she glances over and sees his eyes still closed.

 

She knows that there needs to be pressure on his side. Her blood-soaked sweater is still clinging to his skin, but that’s not enough.  She attempts to reach over and press down, one hand still on the steering wheel, but she gives up when she almost swerves off the road, instead settling for driving really fast and hoping to make it to help before it’s too late.  

 

She grabs his hand up again, desperate for the contact.  She doesn’t know how bad his wound is, hadn’t gotten a good enough look before in the alleyway to know if it was an actual shot or just a graze, if the bullet was still inside of him or if it’d been a through and through.  

 

She’s running out of time.  She knows that the longer they drive the closer get gets to dying.  She also knows that if he loses much more blood or the wound gets infected he’ll die anyway. Her breath gets stuck in her throat as the shock starts to dissipate and fear and realization replaces it.  She thinks how scarily _possible_ it is that she might lose him.  He could die on her any minute.  Bleeding out in the passenger seat of a car she hot wired and stole while literally running for their lives in a cop chase.  Because they’re murderers.

 

A chilly wind blows through the busted window and sends a shiver down her spine.  It causes her hand to jerk in J.D.’s and he hisses in pain but stay unconscious.  “Sorry, sorry!” she cries, even though he probably can’t hear her.  

 

“Just hold on, okay?  Just hold on.”  She let’s go of his hand and makes a sharp right into the parking lot of a shady looking building.  The sign out front says _Johnson’s Assisted Living._  There are a few lights on here and there, so Veronica pulls around back before hopping out and rushing to the other side of the car, not even bothering to close the door.  J.D.’s eyes are blinking open and he’s looking around dazed.  His face is sickly pale and Veronica can feel her stomach doing somersaults at the sight.  When he sees her he instinctively reaches out to touch her.  She ducks under his arm and grabs him around the waist, hoisting him from the passenger seat and out of the car.  She’s trying to support as much of his weight as she can without brushing up against his wound but his breath gets more and more labored with every shaky, uncertain step they take towards the cracked back door.  Veronica’s not asking questions about that, only thanking God for small miracles.  She’s not quite sure what she’ll do once they get in there, or if they get caught.  All she knows is that she has to try.  

 

“How’d we get here?”  His voice is groggy and weak.  His face is strained and she can feel the tension in his muscles.  His pain must be enormous.  

 

“A car,” she answers curtly, too focused on fucking _getting him inside._  

 

“Where’d the car come from?”  The fact that he doesn’t remember _getting into_ said car is worrisome. He’d been fully conscious for that.  She thinks his overwhelming pain must be messing with his head.  The shoves through the open back door and they stumble into a blessedly empty hallway.  There are dark rooms on either side of them and Veronica quickly glances inside one before dragging J.D.’s mostly limp body into one and helping him up onto the bed.  She pointedly doesn’t answer his question.  He leans back against the pillows and smirks up at her.  It would be charming if it wasn’t lackluster and weak.  He’s losing strength quickly.  “Well, be still my heart.  Veronica Sawyer, did you steal a car for me?”  

 

She’s not looking at him, furiously searching through the cupboard above the sink for something to help them.  She can hear the strained smile in his voice, though.  “We needed it.”  She pulls out a half empty bottle of rubbing alcohol and turns back towards him.  “It was an emergency.”  

 

“What a badass,” he jokes as she strips him of his blood-soaked t shirt.  “I have seriously never loved you more.”  He catches her eye and hold it.  His eyes are vulnerable and honest and pained.  He’s trying to tell her something.  Trying to make her understand before he-

 

“Stop that.”  She growls it.  She’s furious.  How dare he.  He does _not_ get to do this to her.  

 

“Stop what?” he asks, eyelids fluttering exhaustedly.

 

“I know what you’re trying to do.”  She furiously unscrews the bottle of alcohol.  “You’re trying to say goodbye to me because you think you’re going to die, but you’re not.”  She grabs him by the jaw with one firm, blood-stained hand.  “You are not allowed to leave me again, J.D.  You can’t.  Do you understand me?”  

 

“Veronica-” his voice cracks and he sounds like he might cry but she doesn’t fucking care. 

 

“Now shut the fuck up and hold still.  This will hurt.”  With only that as a warning she pours half the contents of the bottle onto his wound.  

 

J.D. lets out a horrible scream that echoes through the room and down the hallway.  He involuntarily bucks forward and presses his face into her mostly bare shoulder.  She pours a little more alcohol onto the wound and begins wiping away some of the blood, pressing down hard to try and stop the bleeding.  J.D. grunts in pain and bites into her shoulder to control his screams.  The pain the bite brings hurts but keeps her so focused on her task she hardly notices the woman in the doorway until the light flicks on.  

 

Veronica immediately spins around, arms up, ready for a fight.  Standing in the doorway is a woman in scrubs, late fifties with a gently but horrified face.  “What on earth is going on here?” she cries, reaching for the phone on the wall.  Veronica can only stare at her in shock.  Whatever this looks like, she knows it can’t be good.

 

The nurse’s eyes stare widely at J.D., who has collapsed back against the pillows again, his eyes are closed.  Veronica immediately knows that he’s lost consciousness.  It sends her into a whole new wave of panic.  “Please, please help up.  My boyfriend was shot and I don’t know what I’m doing and he’s going to die if you don’t.  Please!”  

 

“Have you called 911?”  The nurse asks, snapping into business mode and reaching for the phone again.  

 

“No!  Please don’t call them.  People are after us and they’ll just take him away from me.  Please.”  She knows how desperate she sounds.  Her voice is breaking all over the place and she can feel the hot tears running down her face.  Worse, she can feel J.D.’s hot blood pooling around her fingers.  “I’ll pay you!” she cries desperately.  “I’ll pay you everything we’ve got.  Please, just help him.”  Her chest is so tight she feels like it might combust and her eyes are leaking furiously.  

 

“I-” the nurse stutters.

 

She looks stunned and confused.  She’s not moving, not doing _anything_ but she need to do something _now_ because “He’s dying.  Please!”

 

The nurse immediately moves towards them, pulling Veronica’s hands away from the wound so as to get a closer look.  She makes a surprised noise before moving to the cupboard above the sink and pulling out pads of gauze.  She presses them over J.D.’s wound and then forces Veronica’s hands over them.  “You need to put more pressure on it.  Once the bleeding slows down I’ll be able to stitch him up.  It’s just a graze, but a bad one.  He’ll be fine as long as we work fast.”  She bustles back towards the door.  “Don’t go anywhere.  I’ll be right back.”  Then she’s gone.  

 

Veronica tries hopelessly to get her breathing back in order.  She forces even, slow breaths through her lungs but it only makes her feel more panicked, like she’s trapped in a box that hasn’t got even the faintest sliver of light, and the walls are closing in on her. _I am so not equipped to deal with this_ , she thinks, brushing her cheek with her shoulder to try and clear away some of her tears.  

 

She has no idea what she’s doing.  She’s in some crumbling, falling apart assisted living home, paying a random nurse to help stitch up the bleeding-to-death love of her life.  She can feel his blood on her hands and on her face and in her hair.  She feels panicked and shaky and terrified.  She doesn’t even know if she can trust this nurse.  She’d probably heard the screams while on shift somewhere in the building and had come to check it out.  But who’s to say she hadn’t recognized them?  Their pictures were probably flashing on every news channel across the country. How does she know the nurse isn’t calling the police right now to come take them away?  She doesn’t but this is J.D.’s best shot and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take it.  

 

Veronica’s own elbow is still throbbing something horrible from where she’d smashed in the car window, and she can feel the skin catch.  There’s probably glass stuck in the wounds.  

 

J.D.’s eyelids flutter but remain stubbornly closed.  He moans a little in his sleep but it makes Veronica feel better.  Proof that he’s still alive.  She can feel his faint pulse under her palms.  It’s a comfort yet worrisome all at the same time.  “Just hold on for me, okay?” she whispers to him.  “I can’t lose you again, J.D.  I need you.”  Her tears are back full force now.  She’s so afraid.  “I love you,” she leans down to kiss his scarred chest, keeping pressure firmly on his wound still.  

 

She thinks the bleeding is thankfully starting to slow by the time the nurse gets back carrying a little plastic tub of supplies: a lot of gauze and wraps, another bottle of alcohol, and stuff to sew up the gaping wound in J.D.’s side.  “Alright,” she says, pushing Veronica aside.  “Let me see it.”  The inspects the wound for a second before wiping it down with more alcohol and gauze.  “The bleeding has slowed enough for me to sew it but I might need some help.” She instructs Veronica to wash her hands and put on some gloves form the tub of supplies.  Veronica does so without question, shuddering when she can’t seem to scrub the red from her hands.  She snaps on a pair of gloves and rushes over to the nurse’s side.  

 

“Okay, I doubt he’ll wake up but if he does you’ll need to hold him down.  This is going to hurt a lot if he’s awake.”  Veronica nods, watching as the nurse mops up some more of J.D.’s blood before picking up a curved needle, already threaded.  “Pinch the sides of his wound together.”  Veronica’s eyes widen but she does it without asking, taking the sides of J.D’s wound and squeezing.  She tries to ignore the blood once again pooling around her fingers.  

 

Several horrifying minutes later the nurse ties off the last of the thread and cuts it with sterile scissors.  “Get behind him and help to lift up his torso.  We need to wrap it in some more gauze.  Veronica climbs up on the bed and forces her body underneath J.D.’s.  She pushes up on his shoulders and wraps her arms around his chest and the nurse presses a few thick squares of gauze to his newly stitched wound before wrapping his entire lower abdomen in a long bandage  several times.  Finally, she takes it off and helps Veronica lay him back down against the blood-stained sheets.  

 

“He’ll be okay,” she says, washing her hands over at the sink.  “He’ll be weak for several days while his blood tries to replenish itself.  I’m assuming if you won’t even call the paramedics then going in for a blood transfusion is definitely out of the question.”  She doesn’t sound like she’s passing judgement, just stating a fact.  “He’ll need a _lot_ of fluid too.  He needs to constantly be drinking water.  But his pulse is steady and he should be fine so long as he rests.”  

 

Veronica sags against the side of the bed in relief.  She takes J.D.’s hand in hers and presses a kiss to his knuckles.  She feels like she can breathe again.  They’re out of imminent danger for the moment and he’s going to _live_.  She feels like she might cry all over again.  

 

“Now, let me take a look at your arm,” the nurse says, approaching Veronica’s still form perched on the edge of the bed.  She can’t help but flinch when the nurse gently probes at her bleeding elbow with cold, gentle hands.  She hisses in pain.  “It doesn’t look like anything’s broken or cracked,” she says finally.  “But you do have a bit of glass stuck in there, it’ll ned to be wrapped, and you’ll have some pretty spectacular bruises for a few weeks.  But other than that everything’s fine.”  She nurse reaches for a pain of sterile tweezers from the tubs and begins picking tiny shards of glass from Veronica’s elbow.  In her mind she knows that it’s supposed to hurt but she somehow feels separate from her body.  Like, instead of being present inside of it, she’s floating above, looking down over J.D.’s sleeping form.  His cheeks look too hollow and his lips too thin and white in the poor lighting.  But she doesn’t care how he looks, shirtless and pale against blood-stained sheets.  She can feel his pulse under her fingers and he’s _alive_.  

 

That’s all she cares about.

 

“Okay, you’re all set,” the nurse says, finally taping off the gauze wrap now surrounding Veronica’s elbow.  She takes a few large steps away from them and picks up her tub of supplies.  “Listen, I don’t know what you did or who you’re running from and I don’t want to know.  But it’s clear you love this kid a lot, so take good care of him.  And yourself, yeah?”  She grips the door handle in her fists but hesitates.  Veronica can’t meet her eye, simply stares down at her and J.D.’s entangled hands, reveling in the fact that he’s still there, still right by her side.  “This wing has been shut down for years so no one will come down here and find you so long as you stay quiet.”  Veronica nods but says nothing.  “Alright, take care out there, kid.”  

 

Before Veronica can blink the nurse is gone.  “Thank you,” she whispers to the empty room, just a few seconds too late.  The door clicks shut on it’s own and suddenly Veronica feels so utterly exhausted and relieved.  She scratches her fingers through J.D.’s sweat-soaked hair and rubs a thumb over his cheekbone.  Her chest has expanded to it’s normal form again and she feel like she can breath.  Her eyes are heavy but she’ll try to force herself to stay awake so she can keep watch over J.D. while he rests.  

 

She leans down to kiss him on the temple and marvel in the fact that he’s alive and not going anywhere, before settling down onto the tiny little mattress next to him.  “I love you,” she whispers, knowing full well that he can’t hear her.  

 

She manages to stay awake for another twenty minutes before her eyelids close completely and won’t open again until morning.  

 

Beside her, J.D. sleeps on.  


	10. Your love’s too good to lose.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is guys! Last chapter! Thanks so much for the kind words and comments. I hope everyone enjoyed!

 

 

When Veronica wakes up it’s to J.D. tugging on her hair and smiling over at her.   His face is pale and weary but he’s alive so she doesn’t really give a fuck.  “I can’t believe you stole a car,” he smirks.

 

“Shut up,” she grumbles, rolling over and smacking him in the chest.  He groans in pain and curls in on himself.  “Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry! Are you okay?”  She’s sitting up and fully alert now, hovering over him but too afraid to touch.  The last thing she needs is to cause him more pain.

 

Thankfully though, J.D. just laughs and grabs her hand.  He sounds strained but in a suspiciously good mood.  “It’s fine.”

 

Veronica breathes a sigh of relief and sags.  All of this stress cannot be good for her.  She looks him over worriedly, eyeing the wrapping around his abdomen.  She can see the scar from his last bullet wound peaking out and it makes her heart constrict painfully.  There’s also a smattering of scars across his chest and arms from what she assumes was the explosion years ago.  They’re all ugly and pink and raw looking. 

 

He must see her sour expression because he taps his fingers against her thigh in a sort of rhythm and says, “Hey.”  Nothing else.  He doesn’t prompt her to talk and offer her comfort.  He knows she’ll say and take what she needs.  

 

“I was so worried about you.” Her voice cracks horribly and she can feel the tears coming already but doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed about them.  “I thought-” she presses her hands into her eyes, trying to get rid of the image of him bleeding out in some dirty fucking alleyway out of her head.  “I thought you were going to die.  I thought you were going to leave me. I-”

 

“Hey,” he says again, pulling on her hands so she’s laying on his chest.  She’s careful not to touch his wound.  He strokes her hair and whispers against her ear and she feels safe.  “I told you.  I am never going to leave you, okay.  I never could.”  She nodes against his shoulder but the tears are still coming.  “I love you, yeah?  Nothing and no one is ever going to take me away from you.”

 

Logically she knows that he can’t promise that.  Last night was proof enough.  She’d been so, so close to losing him.  But, in this moment, cradled in his arms, feeling his pulse against her skin, it’s enough.  “I love you,” she mumbles into his skin.  It’s warm but too pale.  She doesn’t want to think about how much blood he’s lost.  

 

They lie there for several minutes before J.D. starts to get restless, obviously uncomfortable with the amount of weight she’s putting on his side.  Veronica sighs and swings her legs over the side of the bed.  Feeling his warmth and hearing his voice has already made her feel a thousand times better.  

 

“Alright, sit up,” she says, grabbing at his arms and helping him to swing his legs over the edge of the blood-stained mattress.  He groans in pain but pushes through, bunching his fists in the sheet to try and relieve some of the pain.  Veronica grabs the scissors the nurse left on the countertop and cuts away the already dingy gauze wrapped around him.  He hisses when she wipes at his wound with the rubbing alcohol.  “Don’t be a baby,” she mutters, trying to ignore ow the fact that he’s in pain causes her heart to constrict.  He smirks at her but says nothing.  Finally, she rewraps the wound with the clean gauze the nurse left behind then tapes it off.  She then grabs his spare t shirt out of the backpack and helps him pull it over his head.  He’s gritting his teeth but refuses to make any noise.  The neck of the shirt gets stuck on his nose and he snorts a laugh.  Veronica feels a bit lighter just hearing it.  

 

“Good?” she asks, holding his hand.  Seeing him not soaked in blood instantly makes her day a bit brighter and she’s suddenly smiling.

 

“Yeah,” he answers.  She turns away and strips off her own still blood-soaked tank top.  Her back is to him but she can hear the smirk in his voice as he gazes at her bare skin.  “Yeah, I’m really good.”  Veronica rolls her eyes and pulls out her extra tank.  He grumbles something under his breath as she pulls it on, but she elects to ignore it.  

 

“Alright,” she says, grabbing at J.D.’s wrists and forcing him off the bed and into the chair beside it.  She gathers up all of the blood stained clothes, sheets, and gauze up into a trash bag, then into the backpack.  They’ll have to find a way to burn them later.  “We should probably get going.”  She pulls out the stack of cash they keep hidden away in the bottom of the backpack and leaves it on the counter for the nurse.  It’s probably only a few hundred dollars, but it’ll have to do.  

 

J.D. raises and eyebrow at her but says nothing, trusting she knows what she’s doing.  “And where are we going?”

 

“No clue,” she admits.  “Got any ideas?”  

 

He purses his lips, thinking for a long moment before shaking his head.  “Not really but we’ll be alright.”  He grabs at her hand and pulls her down into his lap.  “As long as we’re together.”

 

She can’t help but snort.  “That was the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

He’s all smiles though as he wraps his arms around her neck and puts her into a weak headlock.  “Don’t mock my emotions, Veronica.  I’m a sensitive guy.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Real sensitive,” she laughs, hopping off his lap and pulling him up onto shaky legs.  His faces blanches slightly at the movement but he’s still smiling.  “Come on, Romeo.  Let’s get out of here.”  

 

She wraps an arm around his waist and he puts one around her shoulders and together they hobble out the door and into the too-bright morning sun.  The car is still parked, doors wide open, just outside the building.  They’re just outside the door when J.D. stops moving with her.  She glances up at him worriedly.  “You alright?”  

 

“Yeah, hold on.”  His face is stern and focused.  He pushes her gently up against the wall and boxes her in with slightly shaking arms.  His face is white and his chest is heaving but he’s looking at her like it’d kill him to glance away for even a second. When he kisses her Veronica doesn’t complain, just let’s him.  It’s gentle and sweet before turning harder and more desperate.  Veronica can feel herself falling hard into him.  It seems like it’s been forever since he’s kisses her when it was really only yesterday.  So much had happened since then and it scares her, which only makes her kiss him harder.  

 

He pulls away to kiss at her cheek, her temple, her nose and Veronica can’t contain her laughs as he brushes his nose against her own before sloppily kissing her neck.  She’s got a hand in his hair and one around his waist and his lips are on hers again, warm and soft and she never wants it to stop.  So, naturally she accidentally runs a hand over his wound, causing him to jerk away and groan.  “Sorry, sorry! I keep doing that!”

 

“It’s fine,” he says, forehead dropping to hers.  His eyes are closed tight as he tries to breathe through the pain.  He doesn’t say anything, just sags against her, breathing hard.  She’s got her fingers in his hair and his full weight is against her.  “I thought I was going to lose you too,” he mumbles into her hair, so close she can barely hear it.  She makes an inquiring noise and nuzzles her nose into his cheek.  “When they started shooting at us,” he says, pulling away and looking her so closely in the eye she can see the swirls of hazel amongst dark brown.  “All I could think was that if you’d gotten shot I wouldn’t just died right there.  All I could see was every shitty situation I’ve gotten you into.  How it’s all my fault.  And now here we are, running from a fucking firing squad.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” she soothes, rubbing a hand down his back.  

 

“Yes it was.  All of it is my fault.  You could've _died_.”  He sounds so bitter and full of self-loathing.  

 

“ _You_ _nearly_ died, J.D.  Not me.”

 

“Yeah but I don’t matter.”

 

She pulls back and stares at him, wounded.  “Yes, you do.”

 

“ _No_ , I don’t, Veronica.  I’m not like you.  I’m not a good person.  I hurt people.  I hurt you.  And the world would be better off without me in it.”  His eyes are hard but hers are harder.

 

“Don’t say that.”  Her voice is stern and unwavering. “Don’t you ever say that to me again.  You are _not_ the same person you were in high school.  You matter.  You matter to me.  And the world might keep spinning if you weren’t in it but mine wouldn’t.  So shut the fuck up and get over yourself.  You matter.”  

 

His face falls guiltily and he nods once before dropping a kiss on her forehead.  “I’m sorry.”  He wraps his arms around her tightly and holds her close.  “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” she sighs.  “Now let’s get out of here.”  She wraps his arm around her shoulders and one of hers around his waist, helping him into the car with a groan.  As he buckles his seatbelt she jogs around to the other side of the and gets in, starting the car and driving off into the early morning sun.

 

+

 

Two days later Veronica adjusts her blonde wig as she reaches for the sticky pay phone.  Her change hits the inside of the machine with a satisfying thunk and she begins to dial the number she’s had memorized since she was five.  It rings several times before going through to voicemail.  

 

She instantly feels relieved, and then immediately guilt as the soft, loving voice that used to sing away her nightmares tells her to leave a message after the tone.  She takes a deep breath.  “Hi mom.  Hi dad.  It’s me.”  She can feel her voice begin to shake but pushes on.  “Listen, I know you’re probably worried, and really confused and hurt.  And I’m sorry that it has to be this way but it just does.  I’ve done some things that I know you definitely would not be proud of.  I’m not the same person I used to be.  I’m so sorry for everything I put you guys through and I love you so much.”  She looks out over the low fence that separates her from J.D., resting on a bench wearing a baseball hat low over hit eyes.  “But I have a chance to move on with my life and be happy.  And, I’m sorry, but I have to take it.”  Across the road, J.D. looks over at her as their bus pulls to a stop in front of the bench, letting out a puff of dark exhaust into the air.  He catches her eye and smiles, motioning for her to join him.  “So, I was just calling to say that I’m not somewhere safe yet, but I’m about to be.  I’m not completely sure what I’m going to do when I get there but I’ll be with someone who loves me and wants to protect me as much as you guys do.”  She takes a deep breath, trying to get her emotions in order and swallow her tears.  “I’m so sorry for everything.  I’ll try to get in touch again soon.  I love you both so much.”  

 

Veronica quickly hangs up the phone and readjusts her wig.  When she rejoins J.D., he grabs her hand and wipes away a few stray tears from her cheek.  “Everything alright?” he smiles.  His skin is mostly back to it’s normal color and he can support his own weight again.  His smile brightens his entire face and Veronica can feel her own split across her lips.  

 

“Everything’s great,” she says, pulling him up onto the bus while handing the driver their tickets.  It hadn’t been easy to acquire them.  They’d pawned off Veronica’s engagement ring for a lot less than it was actually worth, but it was enough for them to acquire fake i.d’s and passports, and pay some teenager to buy them tickets on a bus over the border and into Mexico.  Hopefully, they’d be safer there.  They only had about one hundred dollars left, which wouldn’t get them very far, but they’d cross the bridge when they got to it.  

 

J.D.’s hand is solid and comforting in hers as they drop down into a seat at the very back of the bus.  As the bus rumbles off down the road and towards what Veronica can only pray is freedom, J.D. presses a kiss to her neck and whispers in her ear.  “I know this is hard for you,” he says, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.  “You’re a good person and you’re used to accepting punishment for the things you’ve done wrong.  It’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”  He kisses her skin again.  “How are you doing?”  

 

“You’re right,” she says, leaning her head back against the seat.  “It is hard.”  Several rows in front of them she can see a familiar head of blond curls, held back by a bright red scrunchie.  A few rows in front of that is two mostly-naked teenage boys flicking each other in the ear.  Veronica internally rolls her eyes.  Some things never change.  “And I do feel guilty.  But that’s just something I’ll have to live with.  But, I love you too much to let this go, no matter what we’ve done in our past.”  She holds his gaze in hers, putting every ounce of love and acceptance she can into that one look.  “And from here we can start over.  Have a new, better life.  And start over.  Together.”  J.D. smiles at her kisses her one last time before leaning back in his seat, fingers still tangled with hers.  

 

Up ahead, Kurt and Ram wink at her.  Heather turns around and gives her an accepting nod, lips formed into her ever-present smirk, before the three ghosts fade away into thin air.  

 

Veronica relaxes back into her seat and looks out the window as the bus rumbles on.  Towards their new future.  


End file.
